Three Dog Knight. Tori Phillips

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

      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?