The White Lord of Wellesbourne by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

closed his eyes tightly when Adam’s head came up. It was as
if he’d been hoping the old man hadn’t heard what she’d said. But he had.
    “My wife had a garden,” Adam
said. “A very fine one. But it died when she did. It… died….”
    His head went back into his food,
but there were no tears. Simply the lethargic movements of a despondent man. 
Alixandrea looked at Matthew, her eyes wide with puzzlement. After a moment,
Matthew stood up from the table.
    “A moment, lady,” he said
quietly.
    She allowed him to lead her to a
semi-private alcove just off of the hall. Two enormous lancet windows soared
above their heads, the cool air from the fresh new day blowing away the smell
of dog feces. He stood very close to her so that his words would not be
overheard.
    “What did I do, my lord?” she
asked before he could speak. “Whatever it was, I did not mean it.”
    He shook his head, putting a
finger over her lips to silence her. They were very soft lips and he let his
finger loiter, for just a moment. “I know you did not,” his finger came away.
“But you must understand something. My father still grieves for the wife he
lost twelve years ago.  My brothers and I have spent years dealing with his
fits of madness, when he will drink himself into oblivion and spend the rest of
the night trying to kill himself. That is what you saw this morning; I had to
tie him up to prevent him from hurting himself.  Believe me, if there was
another choice, I would surely take it. But restraining him is the only thing
that keeps him in check until the madness subsides.”
    She gazed up at him, her eyes
wide with dismay. “But… he seemed fine yesterday. He seemed quite pleasant.
    “He was until last night.”
    There was something in his tone;
an alarm bell went off in her head. “Did I somehow contribute to his turn of
madness last night?”
    He smiled faintly. “The song you
sang… it belonged to them. It brought back memories he was unable to cope with.
And the garden issue is nearly as bad as the song. My mother loved her garden.”
    “I am so sorry,” she whispered
miserably. “Had I only known.”
    “Which is why I tell you now so
that you will be aware. His behavior is not your fault, nor your
responsibility, but we must all be careful what we say or do around him.”
    She nodded resolutely. “I will, I
swear it. And I will never sing that song again.”
    “Aye, you will.” He was
indecently close, feeling her body brush up against his torso. Thoughts turned
from his father’s condition to this woman he had so recently acquired. “You
will sing it for me when I ask it of you. But for the future, be forewarned
that any little item, no matter how small, can turn my father from a rational
man into a grieving lunatic.”
    She could feel his heat; she
hadn’t noticed it initially, but now it was nearly overwhelming. It made her
cheeks grow hot. The way he was gazing at her made her knees feel liquid and
weak.
    “Will you help me?” she asked,
her voice a husky whisper. “With your father, I mean. You must help me learn
what I can and cannot say in his presence.”
    “I will be more than happy to
help you,” his voice was a low rumble; he was much more interested in staring
at her soft lips than talking about his father. “The problem is that it is
sometimes hard to know.”
    “Then we shall all have to help
one another.”
    He smiled, faintly, and put a
finger under her chin, tipping her face up to him.  He was so close that she
could feel his breath on her face. 
    “Did you know that you are the
most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on?” he whispered.
    She shook her head, her heart
palpitating wildly. It was apparent that their conversation about his father
was over and another, perhaps more overwhelming, subject was at hand. It was
something that had been waiting to be broached since yesterday and it was clear
that he would no longer delay.
     Matthew’s lips were almost on
her, but they