Read Online The White Lord of Wellesbourne by Kathryn Le Veque - Free Book Online Page B

longer seemed resistant to their union and she was
doubly pleased. The White Lord she had dreamt of for ten years would soon be
hers.
    “Do you sing, my lady?”
    The soft male voice came from her
left. She turned to see that Adam was speaking to her.
    “Somewhat, my lord,” she replied.
    “Excellent,” he said happily.
“Will you honor us with a song?”
    She visibly blanched. “Now?”
    “Please,” Adam begged gently. “It
has been too long since I have heard a fine lady sing. Caroline has many
talents, but singing is not one of them.”
    Alixandrea glanced around the
room of feasting, drinking men. They were loud and boisterous and she was
intimidated. She caught Matthew out of the corner of her eye and she looked at
him, trying to think of a way to gracefully decline the request.  He could see
her reluctance.
    “Now is not a good time, Father,”
he said. “The lady has had a trying day. It is too much.”
    “Nonsense,” Adam scoffed. “How
difficult is it to sing a little song? I wish it.”
    Matthew did not look particularly
pleased. “I do not think it would be wise.”
    “I wish it.”
    Alixandrea could see that here
was no way out of the situation and she did not want to create a battle between
them.
    “Very well, my lord,” she said.
“What would you like to hear?”
    “My Own True Love,” Adam said
without hesitation. “It was a favorite of Matthew’s mother.”
    She stood up to leave the table.
A glance at Matthew showed him to be still seated, his expression bordering on
displeasure. She did not understand why he seemed so unhappy with his father’s
request. But he stood up, dutifully took her hand, and led her though the maze
of drunk men to the minstrels on the other side of the room.  Leaving her with
the musicians, he took to the shadows but stayed nearby, mostly for protection
against the drunken masses. 
    Alixandrea asked the minstrels to
play the song that Adam had requested and the men heartily agreed. They were
very young men, four of them, that had proven quite skilled with their
talents.  They played the vielle, citole, harp and flute. She turned to face
the crowd as Mark and Luke whistled loudly for silence. The hall quieted
somewhat as the men, and their drink, turned to the lovely vision in yellow
standing against the north wall. Even the servants in the gallery above stopped
in their duties to listen. The air quieted.
    She had a captive audience.
Alixandrea tried not to think of the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at her.
She had sung in an assembly before, many times, but this was different. She did
not know these people and she did not want to make a fool of herself. She hoped
they would like her.
    The music began, the soft
introduction of the many-stringed citole.  After a few delicate bars, the words
came.
     
    O lovely one… my lovely one..
    The years will come… the years
will go…
    But still you’ll be… my own true
love…
    Until the day... we’ll meet
again….
     
    Her voice was as pure as the
ringing of silver bells, sweet and lilting and high. Her tone and pitch were
perfect, in delicate combination with the haunting sound of the citole.  There
wasn’t one person in the hall that hadn’t come to a complete halt, in movement
or in conversation, within the first few notes of her song.   The second verse
continued.
     
    O lovely one… my lovely one…
    My love for you… will never die…
    My heart is yours… ‘til the end
of time…
    When you will be…my own true
love…
     
    The song was over, though no one
dared move. Alixandrea stood there, horrified that they did not like her song.
But then the hall erupted in riotous cheering, so loud that she nearly had to cover
her ears. She looked around and spied Matthew back against the wall behind her.
He simply gazed at her, his face expressionless, before finally moving forward
to claim her. She looked at him for some indication of what he thought of her
talent. He gave her none.
    He took her all