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Three Dog Knight
Tori Phillips
THE WHITE ROSE OF YORK WAS NO HOTHOUSE FLOWER Nay, Mistress Alicia Broom was a long-stemmed beauty with a dangerous secret of royal proportions. But for a chance to claim her as his promised bride, Thomas Cavendish would fight the hounds of hell… !Though plots and plans and barking dogs seemed to pursue the Earl of Thornbury wherever he went, Alicia knew she'd found a champion. Mayhap Thomas Cavendish was not what people expected, but the gentle knight had become her heart's desire.



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ub1fb3c01-96c9-5389-82f2-a864df31132c)
Excerpt (#ucdf778ff-a17d-557d-9698-8536676130a4)
Dear Reader (#u161a0917-85ba-51eb-8c8c-c4d044b29995)
Title Page (#uec38cef2-cc12-57f4-ae37-09c83559325a)
About the Author (#uca9a9a63-4ece-5c36-83bc-38959e8e8cd0)
Dedication (#u75b3a4a1-c8c5-50df-bda5-a8b33d33769f)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ucfabfd1a-2d71-5a17-bb9e-e1ba4a39b63d)
Chapter One (#ub86abc4a-34ef-5027-86dc-b45d31f206ed)
Chapter Two (#ud7f6841c-ee8b-5b2b-82d3-3a636a708493)
Chapter Three (#ubd225db0-fd84-5278-a412-7fdc2b53aec6)
Chapter Four (#u423cf72e-a544-55a1-becc-2659b68d1021)
Chapter Five (#u874bb606-5cc7-5538-baa9-74eef102cd0e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

A nameless desire consumed her.
Alicia’s pulse quickened in anticipation of Thomas’ next move. The very air in the chamber seemed to crackle like a fire leaping in the grate.

Without uttering a word, he gathered her into his arms. He clasped her body tightly against his. She inhaled sharply at the contact, intoxicated by his warm, manly scent. She felt her blood coursing through her veins like a flooding mountain brook in springtime. His broad shoulders heaved as if he had just run a footrace. His hard-muscled thigh brushed against her hip, sending a thousand sparks dancing up her leg. The touch of his hands on her spine, firm and persuasive, invited more intimacy. Abandoning her shyness, she wound her arms around his neck, and locked herself within his embrace.

“Alicia.” He murmured her name like a prayer. His warm breath fanned her face.

Her thoughts spun…
Dear Reader,

This month we’ve covered all the bases. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll find romance. To begin, Tori Phillips is back with her third Cavendish knight—the one who’s often flanked by his three canines in the aptly titled Three Dog Knight. In this charming and clever tale, a shy earl and an illegitimate noblewoman forge a marriage of convenience based on trust, and later love, despite the machinations of an evil sister-in-law. It’s no wonder critics have described her books as “superb,” “SPLENDID!” and “delightfully mischievous.”
We are also delighted to feature Ruth Langan’s Blackthorne, her first medieval novel in nearly four years! Packed with intrigue and emotion, this is the story of a haunted widower, the lord of Blackthorne, whose child’s governess teaches him how to love again. And be sure to look for Apache Fire by longtime author Elizabeth Lane, about a Native American army scout on the run from vigilantes, who finds shelter in the arms of a beautiful young widow.
Rounding out the month is Lost Acres Bride by rising talent Lynna Banning. Here, a rugged, by-the-book rancher must contend with the female spitfire who inherits a piece of his land—and gets a piece of his heart! Don’t miss this fun and frolicking Western!
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals
novel.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Three Dog Knight
Tori Phillips





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

TORI PHILLIPS
After receiving her degree in theater arts from the University of San Diego, Tori worked at MGM Studios, acted in numerous summer stock musicals and appeared in Paramount Pictures’ The Great Gatsby. Her plays, published by Dramatic Publishing Co., have been produced in the U.S. and Canada, and her poetry is included in several anthologies. She has directed over forty plays, including twenty-one Shakespeare productions. Currently, she is a first-person, Living History actress at the Folger Shakespearean Library in Washington, D.C. She lives with her husband in Burke, VA.
To my three nieces—Anni Peduzzi, Sarah and Louise Welling who all love cats

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_7373bcad-3881-5f5b-b29c-8ac8bf3d52c3)
I am deeply grateful to all my friends in the Richard III Society, especially Laura Blanchard, Carol Bessette, her husband, John (of the Loyal Opposition) and particularly to Judie Gall, who allowed me to purloin her excellent work, FERNE-AGO, a dictionary of medieval words and terms.

Chapter One (#ulink_83241e24-e494-5307-ab51-856cc85bec65)
“And dog will have his day.”
—William Shakespeare
Hamlet, V, i
Wolf Hall, Northumberland, England
October 1487
“She’s a long-limbed lass,” observed Sir Giles Cavendish, Earl of Thornbury. “Looks like a spring colt”
The girl’s guardian, Sir Edward Brampton, forced his smile, though the earl’s assessment of his darling Alicia made him fearful for her future. Aloud, he replied, “Aye, and one fine day she will grow into a beauty. You have already noticed that she has inherited her father’s height. She also possesses the family’s legendary good looks.”
Indeed, Alicia was the spitting image of her royal sire, although she did not enjoy the protection of a legitimate birth. A cold shiver raced down Sir Edward’s spine at the mere thought of what would happen to his ward if Henry Tudor’s agents learned of her existence. Her first cousin, the poor half-witted Earl of Warwick, already languished in the Tower at the new king’s pleasure.
The earl shifted his gaze away from the golden-haired child who amused herself with a game of cat’s cradle at the far end of the hall. “Does the lass know of her parents?” he queried.
Sir Edward shook his head. “Nay, she thinks her family were yeomen farmers who died of the plague when she was a baby.” He gave a rueful smile. “She believes that my lady and I are the goldsmith of York and his wife. I thought it safest to keep the truth from her until she is of age—or married.” He allowed the last word to hang in the air between them.
Sir Giles sipped from his pewter tankard of ale. “Why have you chosen my family?” he asked. “Would it not be better for the girl to marry within her own class and be lost amid the bustle of York?”
Sir Edward furrowed his brow. “That is precisely the reason why I have come to you, my lord. She was born higher than any merchant of York. Though her father lifted skirts from France to the Scottish borders, he was also our late King Edward, God rest his soul.” He made a hasty sign of the cross.
Sir Giles followed suit. “Amen to that.” He stared at Sir Edward, while he drummed his fingers on the wide-planked tabletop. “You have told me an interesting tale, Lord Brampton. I especially like the part when King Richard called you to his tent before the battle of Bosworth, and gave his brother’s waif into your care.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But what proof do you have?”
Sir Edward drew in his breath. The next few minutes would decide Alicia’s fate. “Did you know King Edward well?” he asked, as he fumbled with the buckle of the worn leather pouch on his lap.
“Aye, as well as I knew my own wife of blessed memory.” The old earl chuckled. “My lady often swore that I preferred Edward’s company to her own. Bestrew me, but at times I did, for the woman tended to nag.” He sighed, then took another swallow of ale. “Now that she has gone to her heavenly reward, I miss her. But to your point, my lord.”
Sir Edward drew a blue velvet bag from the pouch. “Perchance you recognize this?” He cradled a jeweled brooch in his palm.
Sir Giles’s eyes widened when he beheld the splendid oval ruby nestled in a golden setting. A large teardrop pearl dangled from it. “Aye, ‘tis a gladsome sight to see it again. ‘Twas His Grace’s favorite bauble to deck his cap. He is wearing it in a portrait that I have hidden away.”
“A fitting dowry for his last child.” Sensing his goal within reach, Sir Edward lowered his voice. “King Richard gave me a bag of gold sovereigns to accompany the brooch. He did not wish Alicia to come to her husband as a pauper.”
The earl glared at him. “The jewel is enough, though the coin would make my tax burden lighter. May the Tudor and his minions rot in hell! They will squeeze the country dry with their damnable taxes. I can barely make ends meet. My tenants are already destitute.”
“I warrant you, ‘tis equally as hard on honest goldsmiths, my lord.” Sir Edward held up the brooch. The light from the hearth fire brought the ruby to life. “’Tis a match then? Your son for my fair Alicia, daughter of Edward IV?”
Sir Giles stroked his chin. “I have three boys.”
“Alicia needs only one of them for a husband.” Sir Edward glanced at the young girl on the bench. The pale rays of the sun shining through the high-arched window caught the red-gold of her hair, turning it into a blazing halo about her heart-shaped face. An angel, he thought with a surge of pride. Just like all the Plantagenets. Sweet Jesu, protect her from the Tudor upstart.
The earl cleared his throat. “My eldest, John, is near twenty. He has been married once already, but she died. When he takes his next wife, she must be descended from…legitimate parentage, as John will be the Earl of Thornbury after me.”
“Just so.” Sir Edward drank deeply of the ale in his tankard lest he be tempted to challenge the earl’s thinly veiled insult.
“William, my second son, is betrothed to one of Bedford’s quiverful of daughters. That boy is a wild one. Only sixteen, and already he’s gotten two of the village maids with child.”
By the tone of the earl’s voice, Sir Edward suspected the young rogue’s father was secretly proud of his son’s proven virility. He cleared his throat. “Alicia needs a strong arm and a loyal heart to protect her.” She should be loved and cherished, his heart cried out in silence, as I have loved and cherished her since she was in leading strings.
Thornbury sighed, and drained his tankard. “Then there is Thomas.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Just fourteen, but as big as the other two. Rides well. Best sword arm of the lot.”
“He sounds promising.” What was the problem? Sir Edward wondered. Was the boy poxed? With growing misgivings, he waited for the earl to continue.
Sir Giles refilled their tankards from the clay jug on the table between them. “The lad is…honest and true as the day is long. Methinks he does not know how to lie. He speaks his mind plain—that is, when he decides to speak at all.”
Sir Edward blinked. “Your pardon, my lord?”
The earl sank back against the cushions of his chair. “Methinks the boy was coddled by his mother too much. From childhood Thomas shunned the company of his brothers and my fosterlings. He grew even more reclusive after my wife died in childbirth. Now he spends most of the day out of doors, either at practice in the tilt yard, or hunting in the forest.”
Sir Edward found himself holding his breath. Alicia needed the protection of a strong family loyal to the Yorkist cause. If his future plans proved successful, the child would be the half sister of the rightful king. Young Richard of York lay hidden away in the countryside of Flanders, waiting until he was old enough to claim his birthright. Sir Edward measured his next words carefully.
“Your Thomas sounds like the very match for my ward.”
Sir Giles massaged the bridge of his nose. “My Thomas may have the strength of an ox, but he has the brain of one as well. He hardly talks, and when he does, ‘tis usually to one of his damnable dogs. In plain truth, my third son is a lackwit.”
“Oh.” Sir Edward felt like a fool’s inflated bladder after some unfortunate person had sat upon it.
God in heaven, how could he possibly betroth Alicia to a half-wit? What other choice did he have? By the stain of her birth, she would be an outcast at the court of Burgundy, where the Yorkist sympathizers resided. Should he send her over the border to Scotland, or into a nunnery? She would whither away in either place. Nay, Sir Edward had given his solemn vow to King Richard to marry Alicia well. That oath had been sworn the day before the king had been cruelly slain by the Tudor dog who now wore his crown.
A ripple of silvery laughter interrupted Sir Edward’s dark musings. At the far end of the hall, Alicia slid to the floor to intercept an apricot-colored mastiff puppy. It scampered up to her on oversize paws; a long pink tongue hung from its wide, black muzzle. The little fellow greeted the girl with wet affection. The sound of spurs scraping the flagstones, and several male voices speaking at once heralded the arrival of the earl’s sons.
One of the blond giants spied Alicia. “Good sooth, what have we here?” he greeted her. “‘Tis an angel come down to earth.”
Sir Giles shook his head. “My second son, William. He is never at loss for words.”
“Good day, young mistress,” added the older son, giving Alicia a small bow.
Holding the puppy in her arms, Alicia rose from the floor in a fluid motion. “God give you a good day, my lords,” she replied in her clear, sweet voice.
Despite the wiggling animal, she executed a lovely curtsy. Sir Edward smiled at his ward. Only seven years old, yet she carried herself like a princess. If the fickle fates had been kinder, she would have been a true one, he thought. God forgive Edward Plantagenet’s philandering ways.
William shouted across the hall. “How now, father? Is this one my new bride? By the stars, mistress, you are a lofty creature! I like my women small. They are easier to subdue.”
John clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You are frightening the child,” he admonished mildly. To Alicia, he added, “Welcome to Wolf Hall.”
“Ah,” she replied with a pert smile. “Is this one of the dreadful wolves?” She held up the puppy.
“He is mine.” Stepping out of the shadows, the third son took the dog from her hands.
God’s teeth! The boy was a handsome brute, Sir Edward thought. Blonder than either of his brothers, with well-defined features yet unblessed by a whisker, Thomas Cavendish reminded Brampton of an avenging angel chiseled in marble. At fourteen, the third son stood as tall as the other two. His wide shoulders and loose-hung arms and legs gave promise of the powerful man he would become when fully grown. Sir Edward searched the boy’s face for some sign of mental incapacity. Surprised, he saw none. Instead of retreating with his pup, Thomas stood before Alicia as if rooted to the spot.
“You see what I mean?” the earl muttered to his guest. “Says nothing.” He motioned for his sons to join him. The older two obeyed. Thomas either did not see his father beckon to him, or he chose to ignore it. Instead, he allowed Alicia to pet the dog.
“John, William, this is…ah…”
“Master Roger Broom, goldsmith, my lords.” Sir Edward slipped into his daily guise. He bowed with the deference of a merchant before nobility. “I am honored.”
“Just so,” the earl rumbled under his breath. “And the child is Alicia Broom.”
“My daughter,” Sir Edward added smoothly.
“A pretty wench,” William remarked, appraising her over his shoulder.
Sir Edward did not like the roving gleam in William’s eye. Thank all the saints Alicia was too young yet for bedding, or that young man might attempt to do her mischief. Silently he applauded Sir Giles’s prudence to contract his second son as quickly as possible. He was glad that the earl had not offered William for Alicia. The rogue would make life a merry hell for any poor woman.
John elbowed his brother in the stomach. “Forgive William’s manners, master goldsmith. Methinks he forgot to put them on with his hat this morning.”
The earl growled an oath under his breath.
Sir Edward flourished another bow. “Youth must be served, my lord.”
“Avaunt, you two! Begone!” Sir Giles snapped his fingers several times. “We desire some conference with Thomas—in private.”
William brayed a laugh. “What ho! You plan to apprentice old Tom to a goldsmith? What a jest!”
“Out!” roared Sir Giles. “Thomas! A word with you—and put that damnable dog down!”
“Or better yet, marry him to the goldsmith’s daughter!” William jibed as John hauled him up the broad stairs at the near end of the hall. “When you need instruction in the arts of swiving, Tom, call me and—”
John’s audible blow between William’s shoulder blades put a quick end to the young man’s lewd suggestion. Flinging oaths at each other, the two brothers disappeared into the gallery above.
Sir Giles poured himself a third tankard of ale. “The devil take all offspring. I fear that my family makes hawks look as tame as robins. Thomas! Come here!” To Brampton, he murmured, “Now you will see what I mean. A good boy—but he does not know the letter B from battledore.”
Alicia stepped closer to the tall lad. “If it please you, my lord, I could hold your dog while you speak with your father.” She held out her hands. “Come, let us all go together.”
Thomas handed the puppy back to Alicia. “His name is Georgie.”
Georgie greeted her with another long slurp of his tongue. She giggled, then tucked the pup under one arm. She slipped her free hand into Thomas’s. Startled by the contact, the boy looked as if he might pull away. Alicia merely cast him a beatific smile. Without a word, they presented themselves to Sir Giles.
They look well together, Brampton thought. A sunblessed giant and a golden princess. Then he noticed a fresh bruise on the boy’s left cheekbone. He must have tripped over his large feet.
Sir Edward cleared his throat. “My daughter, Alicia Broom, my lords.”
Once again, Alicia dropped a perfect curtsy while keeping a firm hold on the excited puppy. “I am most honored, my lord earl,” she said in bright, sunlit tones. Then she added in a whisper, “Prithee, my lord, will you be serving us supper?”
Sir Edward coughed in warning. He should never have mentioned that possibility to the child. He prayed the earl would forgive her indiscretion. Being a simple merchant’s daughter, she had never met anyone from the upper levels of the nobility.
Before Sir Giles could recover his surprise, Thomas turned to her. “Do you like apple tarts?”
She closed her eyes in rapture. Her little pink tongue darted between her lips. “Aye, I do so adore them!”
“And I, as well,” the young man confided. “Let us visit the kitchens now. I am famished.”
Alicia giggled, and held up the puppy. “And so is Georgie, methinks.”
Turning back to his father, Thomas inclined his head. “Father?” he asked.
Sir Edward detected a flicker of fear in the boy’s remarkable blue eyes before he looked down to the stone floor. Brampton considered the bruise again, and wondered if Sir Giles beat his sons, Thomas in particular.
The earl coughed, blew his nose, then waved away the children. “Take her to the kitchen. Give the lass all the tarts she can eat. Well, don’t just stand there like a hobbledehoy. Be off, Thomas!”
For the first time since he had appeared, Thomas smiled. By all the saints! Sir Edward could scarcely believe the handsome change that came over the lad’s face. The boy threw a sidelong glance at Alicia, who grinned at him in return.
“Let us away, before your papa changes his mind,” she whispered.
Thomas nodded. With hasty bows, the young couple departed.
“Do you like your tarts with cream?” he asked as they went out the far door.
“With lots and lots,” Alicia replied.
Thomas’s deeper voice echoed back into the hall. “Me, too.”
The earl stared wide-eyed after them, then drained his ale. “God’s teeth! Did you hear that, my lord? Thomas has not spoken that many words in my hearing for years. What magic does your little changeling weave?”
Love and acceptance, Sir Edward wanted to tell the amazed father. Instead, he replied, “I know not, my lord. Alicia has a way with folk—with animals, too.”
Sir Giles struck the tabletop with the flat of his hand. “If you say aye to Thomas, then ‘tis a match. We can draw up the contract—after that supper your little minx requested. God’s sooth! She has her royal father’s charm.”
Sir Edward exhaled, and found the experience a soothing one. “You have my word upon it, my lord. Come Alicia’s eighteenth birthday, I shall bring her to Wolf Hall to be wed to Thomas.”
Sir Giles rose and extended his hand. “We are agreed, Brampton.” He regarded his guest with his piercing blue eyes. “You did say the lass gets along with animals?”
“Aye, you saw as much, my lord.”
The Earl of Thornbury smiled. “Good, for she will be living with a damnable kennel.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_32238b3b-94a8-5f06-947a-66ddb95c73bf)
Wolf Hall
Early August 1497
“My lord, you have guests.” Dane Stokes pounded on the thick oaken door of the tiny library. “My lord?”
Thomas Cavendish, the new Earl of Thornbury, hunched deeper in the chamber’s only chair. He pretended to read the Latin text in his hands. Perhaps if he ignored his steward’s battering long enough, Stokes would give up, and send away the unwanted visitors. A wide black mourning band slipped down Thomas’s arm to his elbow. Scowling, he hitched it back up.
Blast the Fates! He had never wanted to be the earl. Had never even considered such a laughable idea. A little over a month ago, his father had been alive and healthy. William and his wife fought like cats, but that was not unusual for them. John’s wedding to a young, wealthy heiress was to be celebrated at the Harvest Festival in September. Meanwhile, Thomas had spent the bright sunlit days pursuing badgers.
“Caught a fair lot of them, did we not?” he asked the undersize brown-and-white terrier of mixed pedigree who nestled on his lap.
Lifting his head, Taverstock perked his ears and licked his lips in reply.
Stokes pounded on the door again. “Sir Thomas, ‘tis some high-and-mighty lord who awaits your pleasure in the hall. Him and his ladies.”
Thomas groaned softly. Not more women. He had one too many as it was. William’s ferret-faced wife, Isabel, refused to accept her widowhood with good grace. He wished that the witch would pack up her chests of clothes and return to her father.
“And leave me in peace,” he added aloud as he scratched the sleek head of the fawn-colored miniature greyhound, who reclined beside his chair.
Vixen looked up at her master with open affection in her deep brown eyes.
“Aye, Vixen, you are the only lady in my life,” Thomas continued, massaging her velvet ears.
Impatient with his master’s misdirected attention, Taverstock pushed his wet nose against the open page of Thomas’s expensive copy of The Comedies of Plautus. Clicking a reprimand with his tongue, Thomas closed the book, and placed it on the table beside him.
Stokes knocked once more. “My Lord Cavendish, do you hear me?” he persisted. “What am I to do with them?”
Send the high-and-mighty lord to the devil and dispatch the ladies after him. Thomas sighed. “Things are not the same as they were, eh, Tavie?”
The terrier licked his lips again, then sneezed wetly.
“Please, my lord. The company has come a long way to see you.”
“Who?” Thomas thundered at his persistent steward.
His loud tone woke the mastiff dozing in the nearby corner. The dog lifted his gray-flecked muzzle, then yawned, displaying two rows of large, sharp teeth.
“’Tis Sir Edward Brampton and his lady wife. Sir Edward says he requests a most urgent conference with you.”
“Never heard of him,” Thomas told his three canine companions. “What in blazes do you suppose he wants?” In a louder voice, he asked Stokes, “What for?”
“I know not, my lord, save that the younger lady has brought all her baggage with her. Sir Edward said for me to tell you…” Stokes’s voice trailed away.
“What?” Thomas bellowed.
“That he has brought your…your…” Stokes’s voice quivered.
“Spikes and thorns, man! What has he brought me?”
“Your betrothed!” Stokes yelled through the wooden panels. “And Sir Edward is in a great hurry to be off and away, he said.”
Thomas opened his mouth to hurl another oath at the steward, but a distant memory stopped him. A tall, thin girl-child in a plain blue woolen gown with her red-gold hair barely covered by a wide blue ribbon and a thin white veil—the goldsmith’s daughter. William had teased Thomas to distraction over his unlikely betrothal. It had been the first time Thomas had ever knocked one of his older brothers unconscious. The earl had whipped Thomas raw for it, but the punishment had been worth the pain. His brothers had never dared to provoke Thomas again. As for the girl—he presumed that she had been married off to the son of another merchant. He had heard nothing of her since their only meeting years ago. Alicia—that was her name.
“‘Tis some mistake, I’ll warrant,” Thomas told Vixen. “What would a high-and-mighty lord like this Brampton fellow be doing with the daughter of a goldsmith? Nay, the word has gotten out that the new Earl of Thornbury is a rich young bachelor.” He grinned at the terrier in his lap. “Oh, and I am somewhat scattered in my wits, as well. We must not forget that part. I wonder if my Lord Brampton is the vanguard of prospective fathers-in-law? God shield me!”
“My lord?” Stokes whined through the keyhole. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come in!” Thomas roared back at him.
The brass latch turned, then Stokes poked his head around the door. “Aye, my lord?”
“The wench. What does she look like?”
A sheepish grin spread across the steward’s face. He reminded Thomas of a lovesick swain on a May Day morn. The sight was enough to put a man off his feed.
Stokes sighed. “Sweet and young, my lord. Fair and tall. The face of an angel. The voice of a lark. The figure of a willow. The—”
“Peace with your moon song, knave!” Thomas curled his lip.
A plague upon it! The little witch had already enchanted his steward. She would have to stir up all the charms of hell to ensnare Thomas in her coils. Blasts and fogs! He did not need more woman trouble. He snapped his fingers to his three best friends.
“Up, Georgie! Let us meet this…female who claims me.”

Thomas found Lord Brampton pacing before the cold fireplace in the great hall. The heel plates of the visitor’s riding boots grated against the flagstones. Brampton had thrown one side of his thick black wool riding cape over his shoulder, revealing his brown velvet garb. Thomas noted that the clothing was well made.
A lady, presumably the impatient lord’s wife, sat in a nearby chair. Her travel cloak showed mud-stained signs of a rough journey. Her pale face held an anxious expression. When she lifted her cup of wine, her hand trembled.
Planting himself in front of his master, Taverstock bristled the fur on the back of his neck. He growled once or twice in challenge. Vixen leaned against Thomas’s left leg. Georgie halted, lifted his nose, quivered, then with a thundering bay, he bounded down the length of the hall toward the startled guests.
The lady screamed as the great dog came closer. Her husband stepped in front of her, and drew his sword.
“Georgie!” Thomas shouted, dashing after the dog. What had gotten into the old boy? Brampton’s sword looked sharp.
“Georgie?” A tall young woman stepped into the band of sunlight cast from the window. Its golden beams caught the fire in her hair. With a delighted thrill of laughter, she sank to her knees and held out her arms to the great mastiff. “After all these years, is it really little Georgie?” She buried her face in his thick furry neck.
Taverstock whined, and danced a few side steps on his short bandy legs. Vixen froze in place. Her dark expressive eyes remained fixed on her master.
At the sound of the girl’s voice, Thomas skidded to a stop. He blinked. The goldsmith’s daughter of his youthful fantasies had returned as a beautiful woman. Her voice was lower, but still held the same tone of merriment. Stokes had not exaggerated. Her figure was indeed that of a graceful, supple willow. Her laughter reminded him of a clear, sweet spring on a hot summer’s day.
“Hold very still, Alicia,” Brampton whispered as he advanced upon the pair on the floor. “I shall take—”
“Nay!” Grabbing the man’s wrist, Thomas twisted it. The naked sword clattered to the floor. Taverstock barked with approval.
“What foul knavery is this?” Brampton whirled on Thomas. “You would set your cur upon my child? Is this your idea of hospitality?”
“Edward, peace!” His wife rose from her chair and came to his side. “’Tis no harm done. See? Alicia and the dog are in perfect friendship.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled at him. “Forgive my husband, Lord Cavendish. Our journey has been in haste, and with some danger. I fear we are much agitated.”
Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie lie down, then roll over on his back while the girl cooed endearments to him, and rubbed his tummy. The great beast wriggled with pleasure. A sudden twinge of envy took Thomas by surprise. With reluctance, he returned his attention to the fuming man before him. Brampton looked familiar, yet Thomas could not place him.
“You wished to see me?” he asked brusquely.
Brampton patted his wife’s restraining hand, then straightened his cap that had been knocked askew. “I told that whey-faced servant that I wished to speak to the earl.” He glared down at Taverstock, who sniffed at his boots. “You are Thomas, as I recall?”
“I am, and I am.”
Brampton rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I am glad you are Thomas,” he said, drawing out his words. “Now, may I please speak with your father?”
“You cannot,” Thomas snapped. Sweet Jesu! How he wished that Brampton could. He helped himself to a cup of wine from the table.
Brampton sputtered. “By heaven, sir, we have come on a matter most urgent I have no time to talk in riddles.”
“Nor have I.” Thomas drained his wine. Over the rim of his cup, he watched the girl try to entice Vixen into her charmed circle. Sweat popped out on his brow. Very warm for this season, he thought with discomfort.
Brampton slammed his fist on the table, rattling the wine pitcher. “Where is the Earl of Thornbury?”
Thomas replaced his cup with deliberate care. “You are speaking to him.”
Brampton’s jaw sagged open. “You jest!” He appeared to deflate under his cloak.
“Nay.” Thomas readjusted his sliding black band. “Gaol fever. My father, then my brothers. They caught it in June at the assizes in York.” Pausing, he pressed his lips together to hold back the pain that welled up inside of him. “I remained at home.”
“May God have mercy on their souls,” Lady Brampton murmured, making the sign of the cross.
“Amen,” Thomas muttered under his breath.
“Amen,” echoed the girl in a soft voice. The heartfelt emotion in her simple word pierced Thomas to his heart. He couldn’t look at her.
A stricken expression swept across Brampton’s face. “All dead?”
Thomas nodded, not trusting his voice.
The older man shot his wife a quick look, then asked, “Did your father ever chance to speak to you of your marriage?”
The young earl grimaced. His father had rarely spoken to his third son except to find fault with him or one of his dogs. The old earl had never talked of gentler matters. Thomas shook his head.
“God save us!” Brampton poured himself more wine, then downed it in one gulp.
At this rate, Thomas wondered which of them would get drunk first. He held his tongue as he studied the older man. Long experience had taught him that people grew uncomfortable with silence, and would gabble anything to fill the void. By and by, he would learn Brampton’s innermost thoughts.
Sir Edward drew himself to his full height. Even so, he was still half a head shorter than Thomas.
“I am sorry for your loss,” his guest began in a firmer tone. “But my mission is still the same. Ten years ago, your father and I struck an agreement whereby you would marry my Alicia at the proper time.” He glanced fondly at the girl seated amid the dogs. “I had planned to keep her one more year. She is barely seventeen.”
Suddenly Thomas remembered the man. “You are the goldsmith—Roger Broom.”
Surprise widened Brampton’s dark brown eyes. “By the book! You have a better memory than I expected. Aye, ‘twas a disguise. Your father knew my true identity. But no more of this, the hour hurries past us. My wife and I must face for the coast before our ship sails for the Lowlands.”
Thomas grunted in reply, though his mind whirled at this news. Why disguised? Now why the flight?
“Alicia?” he asked aloud.
“By written agreement, and the dowry I paid to your father, Alicia is contracted to marry you. And the sooner, the better for her sake,” Brampton added in almost a whisper.
Thomas felt as if a lance had struck a blow against his chest. He glanced at the girl. She smiled back at him. He couldn’t breathe. She rose from the floor, then stepped over the sated Georgie. Hoy day! She stood nearly as tall as Brampton. She tossed her thick braid of hair over her shoulder as she advanced toward Thomas.
His heart thudded against his chest. She must hear its pounding, he thought. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye. He blinked. Her lush red lips parted. Her white teeth gleamed like little pearls. His hands grew clammy. A roaring filled his ears. He had never been this close to such perfection in his four-and-twenty years. His tongue seemed to swell two sizes larger, then it cleaved itself to the roof of his mouth.
She looked directly at him with a sparkle of her laughter in her matchless blue eyes. “Tell me, Sir Thomas,” she asked in tones of purest crystal. “Does your cook still make the most wonderful apple tarts in the world?”
Air! Thomas needed to breathe, or he would expire at her feet. He opened his mouth to answer that all the tarts in Wolf Hall were hers for the asking, but only a strangled gargle came out. Without attempting any more conversation, he wheeled around, and fled out of the hall. Taverstock and Vixen followed in hot pursuit. Georgie, that lumbering traitor, remained behind to enjoy more of Alicia’s caresses.
In the corridor, Thomas barely paused when he encountered his startled squire. “See to my guests,” he snapped at Andrew.
The slim boy lifted his eyebrows with surprise. “Aye, my lord.”
“Put her in the royal suite,” Thomas tossed over his shoulder. Tavie scrambled in his wake.
“Aye, my lord,” Andrew called after him. “I presume you are not referring to Vixen?”
The little greyhound gave him a reproachful look as she limped by.
“Go to the devil, Andrew.” Thomas shouted as he rounded the corner. “And take my Lord Brampton with you,” he added under his breath. He flung open the outer door. Fresh air! He drew in deep, cleansing draughts as he raced across the meadow to the safety of the sun-dappled forest.
“I am the greatest fool in all England!” He consoled himself by banging his head against an unforgiving tree trunk. Tavie and Vixen lay down among the dry leaves to watch their master make a complete idiot of himself.

Sir Edward threw his hat to the floor. “Bolts and shackles! A plague take him! I have half a mind to follow the jolthead, and bring him back to beg your forgiveness. What simpleton have I tied you to, Alicia?”
Lady Katherine laid her hand on his arm. “Peace, my husband. Methinks the young lord is consumed with grief at his sudden loss. Such a misfortune is apt to muddle one’s wits.”
“His wits were none too steady ten years ago,” Sir Edward growled, staring at the empty doorway. “But I had hopes that he would grow more wise with time.” He put an arm around Alicia. “Forgive me, my precious child. I have done you and your royal father a great disservice.”
Alicia shook her head. “Nay, Papa…I mean, Edward, I think not. I recall that Sir Thomas was kind to me when I was a child. Methinks the idea of a wife on his doorstep has much to do with his current distress.” She laughed softly. “Do you remember Peter Martext, the draper’s son? He often visited our shop. When I asked him if he needed help to choose a gold chain, he merely stared at me. You remarked he did not know how to converse with women. Perchance that is the case with Sir Thomas.”
Alicia’s lighthearted tone belied the twist of fear in her heart Dear Lord in heaven, what if her betrothed was truly mad? Though he looked to possess the strength of his Viking ancestors, what would she do if he could not protect her?
Yet the shy boy had grown into a most handsome man. Alicia had never seen such a pair of broad shoulders on anyone. His tight black hose left very little to the imagination. His waist tapered to slim hips and buttocks. His stockings bulged with large thigh and calf muscles, indicating a man who lived in the saddle. The black velvet of his mourning doublet set off his bright blond hair and flashing sapphire eyes. Those eyes did not reflect madness, merely shock.
Lady Katherine squeezed her husband’s arm. “Aye, Ned. I believe Alicia has hit upon the core of the problem.” She smiled up at him, a little too brightly.
Edward slapped his riding gloves against his palm. The huge mastiff rolled over, and regarded him with interest.
“What am I to do now? We must flee the king’s vengeance, yet I fear to leave you here alone, child. You must be safe.”
Alicia swept her gaze around the hall. The wainscoting of oaken panels appeared more black than a natural brown color. The plastered walls above the wood, once whitewashed, had taken on a gray color from many years of sooty fires and neglect. The carved pillars, also blackened by smoke, rose into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling. A faded red banner, looking more like a rag than a battle flag, hung crookedly over the chimneypiece. No gentle housekeeping hand had touched Wolf Hall in many a year. What the poor new earl needed was someone to let some fresh air and sunshine into his life.
“Wolf Hall looks stout enough to withstand an army,” she remarked, trying to sound braver than she really felt. “The only enemy I see is dirt and mismanagement.”
Sir Edward gathered her into his embrace. She was tall enough to look directly into his eyes, and to read his apprehension. “You have always been the practical one, my dove, but thick walls will not save you from the Tudor’s grasp, if the heart that rules within this castle is a weak one.”
Before Alicia could frame a reply, she heard someone cough discreetly behind her.
A youth, dressed in the height of fashion, but with colors of gray and black, swept them a bow. “My Lord Brampton, Lady Brampton, Mistress Broom, welcome to Wolf Hall.”
Sir Edward released Alicia, then strode toward the young man. “Who the devil are you?”
The young fop swept him another bow. “Andrew Ford, my lord. I have the honor of being squire to the Earl of Thornbury.”
Brampton groaned under his breath. “This farce grows worse and worse. An idiotic bear is served by a preening peacock,” he noted in an aside to his wife.
Undaunted by Sir Edward’s glower, Andrew Ford approached them. The slim boy looked no more than sixteen. His sleek, nut-brown hair fell to his jawline. The boy’s hazel eyes hinted of mischief.
“I have come to beg your pardon for my master’s hasty exit, my lord.” Andrew threw him a guileless smile. “Sir Thomas is unused to company of any sort—and most particularly that of two such beautiful ladies as yourselves.” He bowed again to Lady Katherine and Alicia.
Alicia regarded the boy with hidden amusement. This one must dine and sup on honey, and keep the tailors of York in constant employment.
Sir Edward assumed his most dignified demeanor. His ward had rarely seen that side of him in all her years of living under his roof. She still found it difficult to accept that he was a noble lord, while she, herself was…
Alicia pushed away the thought of her true identity. She must try to forget it completely. The sooner she cast off the name of Broom and became a Cavendish, the safer it would be for her. After that, she hoped she could bury the dangerous secret of her existence deep within the heart of Wolf Hall. She prayed that Sir Thomas would honor his father’s bond and marry her.
She did not want to be locked away in a nunnery for the rest of her life. She craved the love and companionship of a husband, and children to bear and nurture. Sunshine. Flowers. And especially animals. She glanced down at Georgie, who returned her look with a hopeful one of his own. Alicia leaned over, and rubbed his tawny ears. Georgie closed his eyes with a sigh of satisfaction.
Sir Edward towered over the boy. “When next you speak, Master Ford, pray do so with some firm purpose. Your lord has treated us in a most shabby manner, and has dishonored his bride. He is an ass.”
Though Andrew shook his head at this insult, his smile never left his face. “Hear me, my good lord, and so find understanding in your heart. My master is a good man, strong and true. He means no disrespect, and certainly not to so fair a maiden as Mistress Broom.” He turned his smile up a notch at Alicia.
She continued to rub Georgie’s ears. Best not to give the boy too much encouragement. He looked like the sort who fell madly in love every day of the week and twice on Sundays.
Sir Edward snapped his fingers several times. “Speak to me, squire. How can I be sure that my ward will be safe if I leave her in this…” He glared at Georgie. “In this kennel. Does your master often bolt from his chambers? Can he speak in more than a growl? Does he have the wit to be married? Can he care for my precious girl?”
“Aye, my lord, the earl can do all this and more. Mistress Broom will be safe at Wolf Hall. You have my word upon it.”
“Ha!” Sir Edward bared his teeth. “The word of a strutting popinjay? Tell me, Master Ford, does a razor frighten your beard yet?”
Two red spots appeared in the boy’s smooth cheeks. His smile clouded, but did not disappear entirely. “My lord, I am sorry if my apparel and my manner offend you. I had the honor to spend my formative years in the household of the Duke of Buckingham, where I learned how a gentleman should conduct himself. Even though I serve Sir Thomas in the wilds of Northumberland, I take pleasure in maintaining my little refinements. When I am full grown, I hope to find a place at court. In the meantime, I do not intend to become a barbarian while residing in the countryside.”
Alicia hid her smile behind her hand. She suspected that Andrew Ford made gladsome company in this old, neglected castle.
Sir Edward regarded the slender lad. “Very well, Sir Motley, I will leave Alicia—at your word. If I hear that she has been ill-used by your master or anyone else at Wolf Hall, I shall personally seek you out. When I am done with you, I will stuff you, your fine manners and your princely garb into an eel-skin, and feed you to the swine. Do we understand each other, squire?”
Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbled up and down the column of his throat He squared his thin shoulders in their thickly padded jacket. “Aye, my Lord Brampton, perfectly. ‘Twill be my honor to serve the countess as I now serve her lord.”
Alicia blinked. Of course! She would become a countess upon her marriage. How quickly the world turned upon itself! She moistened her dry lips. Only last week, she had been serving customers in the goldsmith’s shop near the Micklegate. Now everything had turned topsy-turvy. The merchant’s daughter ceased to exist Yet the new Countess of Thornbury was still a figment of her imagination. Who was Alicia Broom now? A hunted enemy of the usurper who sat upon the throne of England. Her hand trembled as she stroked Georgie’s coarse fur.
Lady Katherine drew closer to Sir Edward. “My love, the sun begins to sink in the sky. We must hurry.”
Sir Edward grunted in his old familiar way. Alicia knew he was not happy with the decision he had to make. Her beloved foster parents must ride like the wind, or they would never reach their ship in time. If she thought she was in danger, how much more so was it for these two dearest people whom she had called Mama and Papa for so long?
Leaving Georgie to doze, she slipped her arms around their waists. “You must go. I shall be in good hands. Methinks Sir Thomas only needs a little time.”
“He needs more than that,” Brampton grumbled.
Alicia kissed his cheek. “And you have the word of Master Ford that I will be well taken care of. And I shall write to you often, and tell—”
Sir Edward gripped her, and whispered, “Nay, you must not write at all, my sweet. A letter could be intercepted, and could lead to your half brother’s death.”
Dickon’s handsome face, so like her own, rose up in her memory. She had not seen the little prince since he had been sent into hiding across the North Sea over a decade ago. Four years later, disguised as a Flemish boy named Perkin Warbeck, Dickon had returned to the south of England, where he challenged Henry Tudor for the throne. For six heart-stopping years, Dickon’s fortunes had waxed and waned.
Two weeks ago, sweet Dickon had been captured by Henry’s forces. Once again, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London, where he had been confined as a child. Her brother’s only hope for his life lay in the fact that no one realized that he was the true Richard, Duke of York, and the rightful heir to the throne. Sir Edward hoped that Dickon would be released, just as another pretender named Lambert Simnel had been. Her brother played his part by claiming he had been duped by greedy men. God save him.
Alicia hung her head. “I had forgotten. Forgive me, Papa…my lord.”
Sir Edward hugged her. “I am no lord to you, poppet. Though I could never take the place of your esteemed father, I pray that you will always think of Katherine and me as your loving parents.”
Tears pricked behind Alicia’s eyelids, though she swore to herself that she would not allow them to escape. It would make the parting more difficult. The time for tears came later. “How I love you both! I shall remember you forever.”
Katherine kissed her on the forehead. “And you will always be in our thoughts and prayers, child.”
“If you must contact us, do so by messenger—one that you can trust—and send to Bruges in care of the Goldsmith’s Guild there. But do not write unless ‘tis a matter of life and death. Oh, my child!” Sir Edward kissed her on the forehead. “Know that I leave my heart with you. Take good care of it until I return.”
Alicia bit her lips to keep them from quivering. “When will that be?”
Sir Edward’s brow darkened. “If your brother can escape, and make his way back to his aunt’s court in Burgundy, then I shall see you soon. If not…” He sighed.
Alicia traced her thumb over the furrows in his brow, wishing she could wipe them away. “Let us not think of the alternative. I shall pray for you and for Dickon.”
“If God hears anyone’s prayers, he will certainly hear yours, sweetest child.” After giving her another hug and a kiss, Sir Edward retrieved his hat from the floor. Then he bellowed at the waiting squire. “And you, Sir Twig! I hold you accountable for her in every respect.”
Andrew swept him another jaunty bow. “You have placed your trust wisely, my lord.”
“In whom, I wonder?” Brampton mused under his breath.
“In my good master, Sir Thomas Cavendish, my lord,” the youth replied. “And in myself, as his obedient servant.”
With a muttered oath, Sir Edward took his wife’s arm and propelled them both toward the castle’s entranceway. Pausing under the arch, he glanced back to Alicia. She smiled and waved at him, while her heart broke within her breast.
“Jesu, you were such a tiny thing when first I held you in my arms. Who knew what an angel you would become?”
“Papa…” Alicia could not utter another word.
Then they were gone.
She bit her knuckles to keep from bursting into tears on the spot. She must not show weakness now, especially in front of her betrothed’s squire.
Andrew offered her his arm. “The first night is the worst,” he confided.
Alicia blinked back the moisture from her eyes. “Your pardon?”
“The absence of your parents.” Andrew tucked her hand within the crook of his arm. “‘Tis worst the first night, then becomes easier. I know.”
She sniffed. “How did you come by this sage knowledge? Were you homesick at the Duke of Buckingham’s?”
Andrew grinned. In a faint way he reminded her of Dickon. “Nay, ‘twas when I came here to be Sir Thomas’s squire. Cried my eyes out that first night.”
“Oh?” Alicia wondered if she would cry all night. She had a sinking feeling that she would.
“Aye. When one of the serving men complained to Sir Thomas that my blubbering had kept him awake, my master bade me sleep on the trundle bed in his own chamber.”
She couldn’t help but be interested in the boy’s story. “And did you keep Sir Thomas awake?”
Andrew laughed. “Nay. ‘Twas he who banished sleep by telling me the most amusing stories until my eyelids fell of their own accord. When I awoke the next morning, I found that Vixen had joined me, and had warmed me all through the night.”
Alicia gasped with shock. “Fie on Sir Thomas for that! How dare he debauch so innocent a boy in his care! And just who is this vixen, pray tell?”
Andrew laughed even harder. “Vixen is a small greyhound, Mistress Alicia. You saw her earlier with my master. Methinks you will like her.”
Ah, but will Vixen like me? Alicia wondered. And what about the dog’s handsome master?

Chapter Three (#ulink_c6d01978-78e8-5016-b745-620e3eee168d)
“What?” Lady Isabel Cavendish hurled a chamber pot at the trembling maid. “You lie, you slut!” A cushion from the nearby stool followed after the smashed clay receptacle.
Meg ducked as the heavy pillow sailed past her. “Nay, ‘tis gospel true, my lady.”
Isabel snatched up one of her satin slippers from the disordered pile of her footwear on the floor. “Thomas betrothed? ‘Tis as much to say that we shall catch larks when the sky falls. How now, Meg? I am in no mood for jesting.”
The maid backed closer to the door. “I do not wag my tongue, my lady. I saw the woman with my own eyes. She has come, bag and baggage. Master Andrew has put her in the royal bedchamber, and there she stays. I came straightway to tell’ee, my lady.”
Isabel lowered the slipper. “And Thomas? What has he said?”
“Naught.” Meg hid a giggle in her apron. “In truth, he sputtered and goggled like a pike on a hook, then he bolted from the hall.”
Isabel curled her lips. This unwanted guest was as much a surprise to her brother-in-law as she was to Isabel. No doubt the great Earl of Thornbury now cowered somewhere in the home park with those filthy hounds of his. Isabel presumed that he wouldn’t return until after sunset. All the better. This bold wench could be well on her way back home by the time Thomas gave her a second thought. A tiny smile crept around the corners of Isabel’s mouth.
“Bring her to me,” she ordered. “I shall deal with this unpleasantness myself.”
Meg bobbed a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.” She turned to go.
“And, Meg?”
The maid paused. “Aye, my lady?”
“Tell no one of my conference with the woman. Do you mark me?” Isabel narrowed her eyes. Meg was such a taddle-toad. “One word, and ‘twill go very badly for you, I promise.”
The maid swallowed. “Aye, my lady.” She bobbed again, then dashed away.
Isabel picked her way around the heaps of discarded clothing that littered the floor of her chamber. She stopped before the large sheet of costly Venetian looking glass that William had imported especially for her, and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. She hated to wear black. It made her look plague-racked. Who in this godforsaken castle cared what Isabel wore? She could roam the corridors stark naked for all the interest she stirred in Thomas.
She skimmed her hands across her breasts and down to her narrow waist. William had always complimented her figure. He appreciated a beauty when he saw one. Not like his father, the old earl. All that man had ever said to Isabel was, “When are you going to do your duty, mistress? When am I going to hold my grandson?”
God knows she had tried hard enough to get pregnant. William had mounted her almost nightly—twice a day when they were first married. Isabel sighed at the memory. Though she had often complained at the time, she missed her dead husband now. Thomas couldn’t possibly hold a candle to William, yet she had little choice. She must marry Thomas, or be sent back to her father’s crowded household where she would have to fight her enormous number of sisters for every scrap of food on the table. Farewell to fine gowns, bright jewels and looking glasses with which to admire herself. Isabel shook out the folds of her black damask skirt. How could she possibly attract Thomas if she looked like a pinched crow?
Behind her, someone cleared her throat. Isabel whirled around. A tall creature, dressed in a plain green woolen gown, dropped a curtsy. Despite her height and apparent low estate, the stranger’s posture remained perfect, even when she rose. Isabel drew in her breath. This woman was a giantess. No doubt her feet were as large as shovels—nothing like Isabel’s own dainty ones. She relaxed a little. Nothing to fear from this long drink of water. Cavendish men liked their women petite.
“I am Lady Isabel Cavendish,” she announced as she seated herself upon the only chair in the room. She spread out her skirts around her. “My husband was Sir William, second son of the Earl of Thornbury.” Isabel paused, then corrected herself. “The late earl, that is.”
“May God have mercy upon his soul, and upon the soul of your dear, departed husband,” the chit replied in a low tone.
Isabel fumbled in her reticule, then drew out a fluttering snippet of white lawn and lace. She dabbed her dry eyes with a corner of the handkerchief. “Poor William!” she murmured. “It pains me to think of him.” Which was the truth. She had finished shedding her tears over his inconvenient departure a fortnight ago. Now she had other amusements to console her grief.
“You have my deepest sympathies, my Lady Cavendish.” The stranger appraised Isabel’s tender little scene.
Isabel wished she had learned to cry at will like several of her sisters could. It was an extremely effective method to get what one wanted out of a man. She prayed the woman before her did not notice the absence of tears. Best to get down to business.
“Who are you, and what do you want at Wolf Hall?” Isabel waved the handkerchief in the air before her as if the visitor was accompanied by a foul odor. “You may speak freely to me, as I am Sir Thomas’s chatelaine.”
A faint blush hovered in the woman’s cheeks. The color unfortunately made her look a little pretty.
“Mistress Alicia Broom, my lady. My…my father is…was the goldsmith by the Micklegate in the city of York.”
Isabel wanted to laugh out loud. The daughter of a merchant claimed to be Thomas’s betrothed? No wonder the man bolted for the woods. Naturally he left the distasteful task of getting rid of the strumpet to Isabel.
She pretended to yawn, barely covering her open mouth with her hand. Let the goldsmith’s gawky daughter catch sight of the colorful gems decking Isabel’s tiny fingers.
“I fear you have made a long journey to no purpose, mistress. As you can see, I am in mourning, and am not in the mood for buying new baubles. Come back to see me during Advent Mayhap I shall give you some custom in honor of the Christmas season.”
The pink in the girl’s cheeks turned to a deep crimson, though she did not change the soft tone of her voice. “I fear you have been misled, my lady. I have not come to sell my father’s wares, but to take my rightful place at Wolf Hall.” She drew herself up even taller. “I am pledged to be Sir Thomas Cavendish’s bride.”
Isabel could not contain her laughter. The mere idea of this plain stick as the Countess of Thornbury was too ludicrous. “I thank you, mistress, for providing me with a spot of mirth to gladden this sad time.”
“I do not jest, my lady,” the merchant’s daughter replied, with a hint of steel creeping into her voice. “The contract was signed, and the dowry paid ten years ago between my father and the late earl. I can understand your wonderment, but—”
“But nothing!” Isabel snarled. How dare this brazen creature invade Isabel’s domain, and claim it for her own? “Either you have been sadly misinformed, or else you deliberately pretend to a place that is not yours either by birth or by right. You are most fortunate that I have a mild disposition, or else I would bring you before the bailiff on a charge of deception, fraud, counterfeit and…and…” Surely there was something else with which Isabel could threaten Mistress Broom. Treason, perhaps? That word always inspired terror.
A blue fire leapt into the other’s eyes. “The law is on my side, my lady. I have a copy of the betrothal contract to prove my claim.”
How dare she challenge me! Isabel stood, though she barely came up to the woman’s shoulder. “What does my Lord Cavendish have to say to all this nonsense?”
Mistress Broom bit her lip, though she did not lower her eyes as Isabel had expected. This jade was a proud one, and needed a good beating to bring her down a peg or two.
Isabel tossed her dark curls. “Methinks he said nothing. Typical! Thomas hates discord of any sort. He leaves all such matters to me. Very well, goldsmith’s daughter, mark what I say to you. I am betrothed to marry Thomas once the period of our mourning is over.”
Mistress Broom’s eyes widened at this piece of perfidy. Isabel became even bolder. “Aye, already a courier has been sent to the Archbishop of York to procure a dispensation for the marriage between my brother-in-law and myself. Our wedding will be celebrated before the Advent season. Therefore, I suggest you remove yourself immediately before my darling Thomas returns, lest his anger grow hotter than mine.”
The goldsmith’s brat lifted her chin. “I will speak with my Lord Cavendish first,” she replied, snapping off her words. “If he tells me to go, I will. But if he bids me to stay, then I will take the place that was promised to me. I vow this, as God is my witness. Good day, Lady Cavendish.”
Without asking permission to go, Mistress Broom turned on her heel and left the room. The wench did not even bother to curtsy before her better. Isabel crossed to the table that held a jug of wine and several cups. She helped herself to a long, but unsatisfying drink.
The devil take the baggage! She is just the sort who would appeal to Thomas. And then, pray tell, what will happen to me?
Thomas squinted into the red-orange rays of the setting sun. Andrew’s dark silhouette blotted out the beauty of the sky’s palette. “Well?” he barked at his squire.
“Mistress Broom is lodged in the royal chamber as you instructed me, my lord.” The boy flopped down on the log next to his lord. Vixen pushed her needle nose under his arm, then laid her sleek head on his lap. She closed her eyes with contentment when Andrew began to stroke her flank.
Thomas drew in a deep breath. “What do you think of her?” he asked, not looking directly at the youth. Andrew was too clever for his own good, and could read his master’s face as easily as Thomas could read Greek poetry.
The squire chuckled. “She is bonny and fair, and a perfect match for you—aye, especially in bed. Hip to hip, knee to knee—”
Thomas cuffed him. The boy toppled backward off the log. Vixen bestowed a reproachful look on Thomas for interrupting Andrew’s massage.
“You will speak with a civil tongue in your head when you speak of Mistress Alicia,” Thomas growled. “Remember, she is under my protection.”
He thought of her lovely eyes looking into his very soul, and of her slim body, draped in green. His manroot tightened between his legs. By the book, what witchery had Alicia wrought upon him in so short a time?
Andrew stretched out on the leafy ground where he lay. Lacing his fingers together, he pillowed his head in his hands. Vixen curled up next to him. “Aye, my lord. Tell my Lady Isabel of your chivalrous inclinations. Methinks she has already poured some of her venom into the shell pink ear of Mistress Alicia.”
Thomas groaned. If Isabel had not claimed she was ill with grief, he would have packed her off on a posthorse to her father’s home right after the funerals were over. The woman made his skin crawl. What’s more, she hated his dogs, and the feeling was returned tenfold by the three canines.
“So Madam Spider has already stretched out her web? What happened?”
Andrew sucked air through his teeth. “I do not know. Lady Isabel trapped Alicia in her lair for a private conference. By the time I could get close enough to overhear their conversation, ‘twas finished.” He sat up. “When Mistress Broom left my lady’s chambers, I saw that she fought back tears. Nearly ran me over in her flight. And yet…” Pausing, he smiled with the look of a contented cat.
“What?” Thomas snapped. He had no desire for this young jackanapes to fall in love with his betrothed. By the rood, Alicia was his.
Andrew blinked. “She stopped, and apologized very prettily to me as if I were the lord mayor of York. Alicia may be a merchant’s daughter, but she has the manners of a noble lady.”
“Humph.” Thomas chewed on his lower lip. “Just remember, maltworm, Mistress Alicia will be the Countess of Thornbury.” That title sounded very odd on his tongue.
“Not if Isabel has her way,” the squire replied softly.
“How now?” Thomas bellowed.
“Methought I heard Lady Isabel say that she would wed you before Advent. And she called you her darling Thomas.” Andrew made a face as if the words tasted bitter. “By my troth, my lord, I would not mingle my blood with hers in a basin, much less in bed. I often wondered how your brother could stand her.”
“They were a matched pair,” Thomas muttered, scooping up Tavie with one hand.
“Aye.” Andrew dismissed the couple with a graceful gesture. “’Tis said they matched very well in amorous pursuits.” He ducked when Thomas tried to cuff him again. “Peace, my lord. I speak only the truth. If you are to marry Mistress Alicia, then ‘tis time you thought of bedsport for yourself. I have had some experience in this area, sir. ‘Tis a very pleasant occupation.”
Thomas scratched Tavie’s belly, and pretended to ignore Andrew’s last remark. Only his squire knew of Thomas’s chosen celibacy. At least, Andrew had the wit to keep his observations private. Everyone else at Wolf Hall, from the steward to the scullery maid, imagined Thomas was a stallion like his lusty brothers. In actual fact, the female of the species scared the living hell out of him.
Andrew jumped up from the ground, then brushed the clinging bits of leaves and pine needles from his expensive clothes. “’Tis suppertime, my lord.”
Recognizing one of his favorite words, Tavie yipped several times. Then he licked his master’s hand before springing to the ground. Thomas regarded his smallest dog with open fondness. “Now you have done it, Andrew. Taverstock will give me no peace until he can dance attendance under the table.”
He stood up from the rough bark log that had been his afternoon’s retreat, and rubbed his backside. “I suppose the ladies are expecting me to sup with them?”
Andrew’s eyes danced with merriment. “Aye, my lord. Methinks they have already drawn up their lines of battle. Their weapons will be winsome looks and sharpened wit. ‘Twill be a rare treat to watch.”
Thomas groaned. “Perchance I will take supper in my chamber.”
“Coward!” the boy whispered, dancing out of his lord’s reach.
Thomas studied the purple twilight as it crept across the sky. The evening star winked back at him. “Aye, you speak the truth. I have never run from a fight, Andrew, and I am not about to start now. Lead me on to these warring females, but, by the book, do not leave me alone with them!”

Alicia stood at the high-arched window of her chamber. Drawing in a deep breath of the cool evening air, she savored the unfamiliar scents of wet earth, fields of new-mown hay and the sharp tang of woodsmoke that curled up from the blacksmith’s forge. Everything seemed so fresh and clean in the country after a lifetime spent within the walls of York. Alicia stared at the farthest tip of the horizon, and prayed that Sir Edward and Lady Katherine had arrived in good time at their rendezvous on the North Sea coast. A thick lump rose in her throat. She might never again hear Katherine’s sweet singing while she went about her chores. Never again feel Edward’s whiskery good-night kisses on her cheeks. A tear burned her eyelids.
Do not be a goose, Alicia. What is past is past. Look to the future. You are mistress of your own fate now. Tears are not going to win Thomas. You must be strong. Everything depends upon it.
The huge mastiff at her feet looked up at her with an expectant expression.
Bending over, Alicia scratched his tawny back. “What is it, Georgie? Is your master coming?”
Georgie rose and padded over to the closed chamber door.
Alicia studied his behavior. “Is someone out there?” she asked in a low voice.
The dog gave himself a shake, as if to banish the last vestiges of his afternoon nap. He continued to stare at the door.
Has that awful Lady Isabel set one of her minions to spy upon me? Alicia tiptoed across the wide, smooth floor. Without making a sound, Alicia put her hand to the latch. With a sudden twist, she yanked open the door. A young girl with a tousled mane of flaxen hair fell across the threshold. Georgie greeted her with slobbering kisses.
“How now?” Putting her hands to her hips, Alicia regarded her surprise visitor. “And who might you be?”
The girl laughed in answer as she hugged the huge dog. “I wager that Georgie told you I was here,” she said, pulling herself into a sitting position.
Her pretty gown of dove gray silk and linen showed signs of an active day spent out-of-doors. Smudges of dried mud decorated the hems of her skirts, and deep grass stains showed where the child had propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Twill be the devil to get those marks out of the cloth. What was her governess thinking to let her frolic in so fine a dress?
“Aye, Georgie is a wise animal,” Alicia replied. She crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for an introduction.
The girl hugged the great dog again. “I thought as much. Isabel says that he is useless because he is so old. Pooh! She is the one who is useless, unless ‘tis for her own pleasure.” The golden child folded her hands in her lap, then looked up at Alicia. “They said you were tall.”
Alicia bit back a grin. Seeing that the girl intended to remain on the floor, she decided to join her. Judging from the richness of the child’s attire and her resemblance to Thomas, she presumed that her mysterious guest was a member of the family, and not a kitchen maid. Perhaps Alicia could win an ally for herself. She sank down onto the floor in front of the girl and dog.
“Not too tall now, methinks,” she remarked with a smile.
The child giggled. “Nay, just right. Too bad we have nothing to eat. We could have a feast right here, all by ourselves. I do so love feasts and merrymaking.” Wrinkling her nose, her expression grew solemn. “‘Tis been a sad house since my papa died.”
Alicia had the urge to gather the child into her arms, but restrained herself, lest she act too forward. She did not even know the winsome girl’s name.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” she murmured. “And may his sweet angels keep watch over you.”
“Amen,” the girl breathed. Then she ran her hand down Georgie’s broad back.
Alicia stroked the animal’s other side. Georgie closed his eyes with a look of pure bliss. No one spoke for several minutes.
“I heard what Isabel said to you,” the girl announced.
Alicia paused in midstroke. “And what did you hear?”
“Do not believe a thing Isabel says. She has a viper’s tongue.”
Alicia widened her eyes. “’Tis not polite to speak that way about a member of your family.”
The child snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Thank the good Lord she is not a blood relation.” She lowered her voice. “And she is not going to marry Tom at all. He cannot stand her.”
Alicia moistened her lips. “How do you know? Did my Lord Cavendish tell you this piece of news—or did it float through a keyhole?”
The lass giggled again. “Both. That is why you must marry my brother without delay.”
Alicia pretended to be surprised. “Oh? I am merely the daughter of a goldsmith. How can I marry a great lord?”
The other shrugged her shoulders. “My papa betrothed Thomas to a goldsmith’s daughter years ago. I was weaned on that tale. William often teased poor Tom about it.” She regarded Alicia with a pair of bright blue eyes. “Methinks my papa made a wise choice for him.”
Alicia laughed. “How do you know? Why, you do not even know my name.”
“Mistress Alicia Broom.” The girl shot her a triumphant look.
“My, my, your ears must be overflowing with gossip. I fear you have me at a disadvantage, for I do not know who you are.”
The child swept her flyaway hair out of her eyes, then straightened her posture. “I am Lady Mary Elizabeth Cavendish, so please you.”
Alicia smiled as she inclined her head to Lady Mary. “It pleases me right well to make your acquaintance.”
Mary clapped her hands. “Good! I want us to be friends. Do you like to play games?”
Alicia blinked at the lightning shift in the conversation. “Aye, though it has been a while since I had the opportunity. What sort of games do you have in mind?”
Mary sighed with anticipated pleasure. “Every kind under the sun. Shuttlecock and battledore, hoodman’s bluff, hoops, cards. I love games.” She made a face. “Isabel does not. She is such a mud hen! You must pay her no mind. She only wants Tom to marry her because she wants to be the Countess of Thornbury. She does not love him at all. In fact, she thinks my brother is half-witted.”
“That is a very shameful thing to say, Lady Mary,” Alicia remarked in an offhand manner, though her heart raced under her tight bodice.
The girl did not look the least bit dismayed, but continued to stroke Georgie. “Aye, but I did not say it. Isabel did. I heard her.”
“Through a keyhole, perchance?”
Mary grinned at her. “Aye! How else am I to learn what happens under our roof? No one tells me anything. Was your governess a witch?”
Alicia bit her cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. “I fear that the daughters of goldsmiths do not have governesses, though my…my father taught me to read and write.”
The child sighed. “Lucky you! Mine is Mistress Vive—her real name is Genevieve, but ‘tis a mickle mouthful to say if one is in a hurry. She is utterly a perdition!” Mary flopped over backward with a dramatic groan.
“I am sure that she tries her best.”
The sprite made a rude noise with her lips. “Not so! All she wants to do is nap or eat sweetmeats the livelong day. Every time I look at her, she clicks her tongue at me and tells me that my husband will have to horsewhip me to make me behave.” She snorted. “I am not past twelve years. What do I want with a husband?” Rolling over onto her stomach, she gave Alicia a very shrewd look. “But you will do very well as Tom’s wife. You already like his dogs, and that is half the battle.”
“Tell me something about your brother,” Alicia prompted. She had seen Thomas for only a moment, and she still wasn’t sure if she had pleased or shocked him. Andrew’s assurances had done little to calm her apprehensions.
Mary grinned. “He is the sweetest and gentlest of men. John was nice enough to me, but he was always away on Papa’s business about the estates. William was…a great roaring boy. In plain truth, a bully. I hated him then, but I do miss him now. I never truly wanted him dead.”
“I am sure that you did not,” Alicia soothed.
Mary’s eyebrow rose up. “Oh, I confess, I sometimes thought about it, especially when William got me into trouble with Papa or Mistress Vive, but now…” She gave herself a little shake. “Tom often reads stories to me from one of his books. He plays chess very well, though sometimes I can beat him. He lets me have extra sweetmeats after dinner, and he has a lovely singing voice, though no one hears it but me and the dogs.”
“Why is that?” Alicia breathed.
“He does not like to call attention to himself. William treated Tom shamefully every chance he got. I do not blame Tom for staying out in the woods until all hours, or for finding his dogs better company. Pray, do not be fooled by my brother, Mistress Alicia. ‘Tis all a ruse. He is sparse of words by choice. ‘Tis true, he is very shy among company. But make him lose his temper, and bang!” She clapped her hands, which startled Georgie out of his reverie. “Thomas spews forth such speeches that would make the Archbishop of York faint with surprise.”
Alicia tucked this piece of intelligence away in her memory. “Most interesting.”
A gong sounded in the chamber below them. Its tones reverberated from the stone walls of Wolf Hall.
Mary and Georgie both jumped to their feet. “Supper!” the lass chirped over her shoulder as she and the mastiff hurried out the doorway. “Remember what I said.”
“Aye, ‘tis graven upon my mind.” Rising from the floor, Alicia brushed off stray tawny dog hairs. Lady Mary Cavendish had said quite a lot, she mused as she tightened her braid. She prayed she could remember it all.

Chapter Four (#ulink_465ec21e-f05f-5d1f-9459-f485a90b09f9)
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.

Chapter Five (#ulink_5298e4d1-b9a9-528c-bd6d-35b3081bc9a2)
Alicia reread the note. Its sweet words burned into her memory. She had never received a letter before now—and this one swept her away with its poetry. She furrowed her brows as she read the sugared words for a third time. An uneasy feeling stole through her—“I am ever thine.” Whose desire had she awakened?

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