Three Dog Knight

by Tori Phillips

  She glanced again at Thomas. He looked like one of the dreaded horsemen of the apocalypse. All he lacked was a fiery sword. She realized belatedly that she had pushed the Earl of Thornbury too far. The blade of his dagger glowed red in the candlelight.

  Alicia placed her hand over his that held the knife. At her touch, he visibly softened a little, though he still looked like a sinner’s worst nightmare. Isabel’s intuition told her that her only hope of salvation lay with Alicia. She pasted a weak grin on her face. She must brazen out this debacle. Her lips trembled.

  “I am relieved to see you here, sister-in-law,” she said. “I beg you to take your poor husband home, and nurse him well. ‘Tis obvious that he is in the throes of one of his fits, and—”

  The dagger sang through the air. Thomas sliced open the pillow that Isabel clutched to her breast. Goose feathers fluttered around them like snowflakes in winter. Isabel bit down hard on her lower lip to contain her scream of fear. He has truly gone mad!

  “Why did you seek the life of my own?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

  She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. “I…I have no idea what you are talking about. As you can see, I am a-bed. How could I possibly—”

  Thomas leaned over the bed. His face was mere inches from Isabel’s. The smell of her fear tainted his nostrils. “One of your men languishes within York’s dank gaol. After due process of the law, he will suffer a cruel death for his crimes against my wife. I regret that his companion has already paid the full price, and will miss the excitement of a public execution.”

  Isabel turned paler, but said nothing.

  He continued. “We had a long ride to York this evening. Your henchman talked a great deal. Indeed, he did nothing but babble his misdeeds over and over. With every other word, he pronounced you as the employer of their criminal talents. ‘Twas a tiresome thing to hear him repeat, and repeat your name. Have you anything to add to his confession?”

  Like a cornered cat, she narrowed her eyes. She glanced at Alicia, then back to Thomas. “How dare you accuse me of wrongdoing when you yourself have committed a worse crime?”

  Thomas stiffened. What game did the little witch play now? he wondered. “How so?”

  A thin, cruel smile touched her white lips. “Treason, my lord. You harbor a sworn enemy of the king of England.”

  A dart of fear burst inside his chest, though Thomas made sure he exhibited nothing but mild surprise. “Who?” he asked as he put his arm around Alicia’s waist. He could feel her trembling under his fingers, though her expression did not betray her anxiety.

  Isabel pointed her finger at his wife, as if it was an arrow to Alicia’s heart. “Her!” She directed her attention past Thomas’s shoulder. “I beg you all here to be my witnesses.”

  He looked behind him. Beside Ozwald, who held the fainting maid in his arms, the doorway had filled with a number of the inn’s customers. Alicia gasped under her breath. Thomas gave her a reassuring squeeze. Now that an audience was present, he knew exactly what course to take. He had had years of practice.

  He chuckled. “I fear that the lady is moonstruck,” he tossed over his shoulder to the gawking crowd. “My wife is the virtuous daughter of Master Edward Broom, a well-known and respected gold merchant in the city of York.”

  Several of the onlookers murmured their agreement. Thomas thanked the stars for their witness.

  Isabel tossed her black hair out of her face. “Ha! She is a Plantagenet. I heard her say so with her own mouth. She is one of King Edward’s misspent seeds grown to maturity.”

  Thomas shook his head with a show of sadness. “Alas, grieving creature,” he murmured. Then to the people behind him, he added, “My sister-in-law’s mind is unhinged by my poor brother’s untimely death.”

  A few muttered sympathetic sounds.

  “Look at her!” Isabel shrieked. Her face changed color from white to mottled red in a matter of seconds. “She is the very image of the late king.”

  Thomas pretended even more surprise. “In truth? Were you a close friend of King Edward?” He remarked to the onlookers, “Methinks she is older than I first suspected.”

  The people chuckled at his witty observation. Thomas gave Alicia another squeeze. Do not swoon, my love. I have not yet finished this piece of mummery.

  Isabel rose to her knees in the middle of the bed, so that the crowd could see her better. Thomas obligingly stepped to one side, pulling his beloved into deeper shadow.

  “I have seen the late king’s portrait,” Isabel announced. “And I have heard tales of that man. They said he was a golden giant.” She pointed again at Alicia. “That one is tall and has golden hair, the same as the king. Indeed, there are few women in all of England who are as tall as she, except for our queen, Elizabeth Plantagenet—her royal half sister.”

  Alicia clutched Thomas’s hand. Her skin was ice cold. He folded his fingers over hers, and warmed them as best he could.

  “I saw the queen once,” Isabel continued as her audience grew silent. “When she was crowned in London. My father took us there to take part in the festivities just before I was wed to William Cavendish. The queen and that woman are as alike as two peas from the same pod. Mark you!”

  Thomas noticed that Isabel’s finger shook. He exulted silently, then he pulled up a deep roll of laughter from the pit of his stomach.

  “The lady’s brain sickness grows worse and worse,” he told the growing crowd who now poured through the chamber’s door. “I do fear for my poor sister-in-law, my friends. Aye, I fear that she may do an injury to herself if she is allowed to continue with this mad delusion.”

  Many of the men nodded their agreement with him.

  Thomas released his wife, strode over to the bed, and sat down next to Isabel. He put his arm around her shoulder. She started to resist, but he held her more firmly, and pulled her against him so that he could speak to her alone.

  “Listen to me well. If you are not suffering from lunacy, then you will stand trial for the same crime as your maimed hireling who attacked Alicia,” he whispered.

  Isabel ceased to struggle, and became very still in his grip.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “if you have lost your wits and cannot tell a hawk from a hand, then you must be cared for.”

  She gulped. “What do you mean?”

  He smoothed her hair over her brow. “You must be put in a dark, safe place, given cold baths every day, and fed only plain foods that will purge your madness.”

  She shook her head, and renewed her efforts to pull away from him. Thomas dug his fingers into her bare shoulder.

  To the people, he said, “Methinks we have found her just in time.”

  The crowd responded in the affirmative.

  Thomas lifted his voice so that even the people out in the hallway could hear him. “As her loving brotherin-law and the Earl of Thornbury, I have power over her care. ‘Tis my merciful will that she will be conducted this very day to the Abbey of Saint Luke on Holy Isle in the North Sea, and there—”

  “Nay!” Isabel twisted, then flung herself at him, her fingers curled into claws to scratch his face.

  He grabbed her wrists, and flattened her backward onto the mattress. He pinned her down with the weight of his body. Her eyes grew wide when he spoke again in her ear.

  “There, the holy sisters, who have dedicated their lives to healing the brainsick, will lay their gentle hands on you,” he whispered to her, “for the rest of your natural life.”

  Isabel went very still. He released her, and again addressed the company. “Good friends, I thank you for your concern, but I beg that you withdraw in order to give my poor sister-in-law time to dress.” He stood up, his great size filling the small room. “Good night, and pleasant dreams to you all,” he said as he ushered the rabble out of the door.

  Isabel dragged herself to her knees again. Tears streamed down her face. “Forgive me, Thomas,” she sobbed. “Alicia, please! Have mercy on me!”


  Thomas ignored the soft look that crept into his wife’s blue eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest “Forgiveness comes from God alone, Isabel. While you are healing your mind, perchance you can heal your soul, as well.”

  He glanced at Meg, who had revived from her swoon. “Get your mistress dressed,” he ordered. “She rides from here in an hour, and I care not how she is clothed. The quicker you are, the happier you will be anon.”

  Once again, Isabel hurled herself at him. “Thomas! You cannot do this!”

  He caught her as if she weighed nothing. “Aye, I can, and I will.” He tossed her back on the bed amid the hundreds of goose feathers. “Have done with me, woman, and count your blessings that you will not face the burning stake for your sins. For my part, I wash my hands of you forever.”

  He slipped his arm around Alicia. “Come, my sweet. You must be exhausted.” He led her out the door, and closed it softly behind him. “Stand guard,” he told Ozwald.

  As they descended to the first floor, they could hear Isabel’s bloodcurdling screams behind them. Alicia shivered. Thomas held her tighter against himself.

  “Stark, staring mad,” he explained to the gaping landlord, as the couple passed by him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once he had recovered himself, the landlord of the Black Dog showed Thomas and Alicia to his best room. For a brief moment, Alicia wondered if she was going to have her long-awaited bedding in a roadside inn, but her husband quickly scotched that idea.

  “A warm posset for my lady,” he instructed the man. “She has had a long day and a night on a horse, and is tired beyond caring.”

  The little florid-faced innkeeper glanced at Alicia, then nodded his head like a jay bird. “At once, my lord.”

  When he had gone, Thomas pulled back the covers of the simple bed. At least the sheets smelled clean with a hint of lavender. As if she was a child, he unbuckled her shoes for her, then massaged her aching feet. Alicia lay back on the mattress, and purred with pleasure.

  The sweet-smelling posset of milk, honey and sack wine arrived just as he tucked her into bed. He stirred the hot mixture for her before he allowed her to sip from the steaming mug.

  “‘Twill do you a world of good,” he murmured.

  “You are very kind to me, Thomas.” She stroked his cheek.

  In the distance, they heard a muffled scream.

  His jaw clenched. “I wager ‘tis Isabel.” He glanced out the window at the setting moon. “She has a scant half an hour to get ready. She would do well to dress warmly, and scream less. I understand Holy Isle is a very cold place.”

  Alicia looked up at her husband. “Do you not think you were too hard on her?” she asked in between sips of the posset.

  His eyes turned bluer. “After what that witch nearly did to you? She would have handed you over to the Tudor king to be killed at his pleasure. She is fortunate to still possess her own life.”

  “But, Thomas—”

  He placed his finger over her protesting lips. “’Tis the only way I could think to silence her accusations against you. No one will believe a mad woman’s ravings.” He cradled her face between his large hands. “I will not have you live in fear for the rest of your life.”

  She kissed his fingers. “Will you come to bed, Thomas?”

  To her surprise, he flushed, and looked down at his boots. “Sleep well,” he mumbled. “I must attend to Isabel’s departure. Once I know she is safely away in the keeping of my guards, I will take you home.”

  He kissed her forehead, then left the chamber. Home, she thought. That simple word held a wealth of joy. She curled on her side. Sleep engulfed her faster than she expected it.

  The sun stood almost overhead when Alicia and Thomas finally rode away from the Black Dog Inn. All the way back to Wolf Hall, he entertained her with snatches of funny songs, clever riddles and word puns, and with more tales of his youth. Neither of them spoke of Isabel whom they knew traveled in the opposite direction. Though Thomas did his best to banish all sad thoughts from her mind, Alicia could not help feeling sorry for her sister-in-law. Silently she said a little prayer that Isabel might find some contentment within the convent walls.

  Evening shadows lengthened across the courtyard when they rode through the open gates of Wolf Hall. Alicia saw at once that Andrew had been true to his word. Colorful banners hung from every tower and battlement. Lights blazed from every window.

  “That boy will beggar me yet,” Thomas grumbled under his breath.

  Alicia cast him a quick glance, and was relieved to see that he smiled.

  He waved at the windows’ cheerful glow. “Mark how my squire has used every candle from the storeroom.” He grinned at her. “‘Tis only fitting to greet the lady of my house.”

  She inclined her head at his compliment. “And her lord,” she added.

  Mary burst through the main doors, and dashed down the steps. “Thomas! Alicia! Oh, Tom! I am so glad you are back! You will never guess in a month of Sundays what has happened!”

  He rolled his eyes at his wife. “Welcome home, my lady. As you can see, you do not even get a chance to shake off the dust from the road before a crisis ensnares you.”

  As he helped her down from her rented horse, she whispered to him, “Do you think Mistress Genevieve has abandoned her charge?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “One can only hope and pray.”

  Mary flew into his arms. “Thomas! You will never guess! Put me down! I am not a little girl anymore!” she added with the merest trace of indignity.

  He placed his sister on her feet. “How now, mistress? What is all the fuss about?”

  Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Andrew’s sudden appearance interrupted her.

  “My lord and lady! You must come at once. ‘Tis such a sight as you will never imagine.”

  Mary stamped her foot. “Do not say one more word, Andrew. ‘Tis for me to tell, not you.”

  Thomas puffed out his cheeks. “By all that is holy, what are you two babbling about?”

  His sister drew herself up until Alicia wondered if the child would burst out of her gown.

  “Vixen has had her puppies!” she announced. The news echoed around the stone walls of the courtyard.

  “Six!” added Andrew.

  A warm, wonderful smile enveloped Thomas’s face. “Healthy?”

  The girl giggled. “Aye, every last one of them is nursing like a little piglet. Vixen looks very pleased with herself, though why, I cannot understand. By my troth, the puppies look as if every dog in the village had sired them.”

  Thomas hugged Alicia. “Then all is well. Where did she have them this time? In the loft? Under the stairs? In the buttery?”

  Mary and Andrew exchanged looks. The squire cleared his throat. “In your absence, Vixen picked her most favorite spot in all the world, my lord. She had them in the middle of your bed.”

  Alicia covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Thomas looked thunderstruck. She hoped he was thinking about where he would sleep with his new wife tonight.

  Vixen greeted her visitors with a regal demeanor. She had created a soft nest amid the tumbled sheets and blankets of Thomas’s great bed. Stokes had kept the room warm with a great fire blazing in the grate, and he had cleaned up the birthing before his master’s return. The half-dozen puppies slept in a heap next to their mother.

  Alicia’s heart melted at the maternal sight. She had often seen newborn kittens when she was growing up, but never puppies, since Katherine had not been partial to dogs.

  “Oh, Thomas, they are so sweet—and so tiny!”

  He chuckled. “You have outdone yourself this time, Vixen. Good girl!”

  The greyhound laid her ears back, and wagged her tail at his words of praise. He stroked her smooth head. She closed her eyes with contentment.

  Leaning over the bed, he regarded the mix of black, white and tawny balls of fluff. “Methinks I will have to dower this lot with silver pennies to find them good
homes.”

  Alicia touched his shoulder. “Oh, Thomas! Do not think of giving them away so soon when they have only just arrived. Poor Vixen! How can you talk of taking her children away in her presence?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How now? You wish to keep this motley pack? You shall see anon. In six weeks’ time, Vixen will be anxious to flee them all.”

  He sat down on the bed near the headboard, taking care not to jostle the new mother and her brood. Watching him, Alicia prayed that next year at this time, she would be the one lying in this great bed, beaming with pride as she presented her lord with his first child—that is, if she could ever get Thomas to make love to her.

  “’Tis a good omen,” she said aloud, then laughed when he gave her a perplexed look.

  Something rustled when he shifted his weight on the bed. His expression changed to one of surprise when he looked down where he sat. “What is this?” He reached between the headboard and mattress, and drew out a crumpled piece of paper.

  Alicia nibbled her lower lip. She heard his quick intake of breath as he smoothed out the love letter she had hidden there. Sweet Saint Anne! How could she possibly explain this damning piece of evidence?

  He held out the note to her. “The words did not please you?” His astonishment was obviously genuine.

  She licked her lips, trying to think of a placating answer. “The words are fair and fine, my lord. ‘Tis the hand that wrote them.”

  His eyes darkened. “What is wrong with my penmanship?”

  His question caught her off-balance. “Your handwriting is a good one, and easy to read.”

  He looked down at the paper. “Then ‘tis the author who does not please you.” His face paled, and his good humor disappeared.

  Alicia swallowed. She did not want to get Andrew into trouble. “I did not think ‘twas proper for someone to be sending me such…personal letters when I was betrothed to you.”