A Dishonorable Knight (16 page)

The captain stared at the abbess for
several seconds before saying "'Twill take me several hours to gather my
men. They've been training throughout these mountains."

"Then you'd best not waste any
more time here, had you?" the abbess said acidly. Without a further word,
the captain stalked out of the small room.

"You must go and change. I can't
have you wandering about in such clothes." So absorbed was Elena in
thinking of a way to warn Gareth that she did not even realize the abbess was
addressing her in English. "You there!" Elena jumped and quickly
stood.

"Yes?"

"Take these clothes and change
in the next room. Be sure to cover your hair with this veil."

"Is there a privy I may attend
first?"

"Out back. Go and return quickly
and disturb none of the sisters on your way."

"Of course not, madame,"
Elena said as meekly as her temper would allow. Once outside, she ducked around
the main building of the abbey in the direction she had seen Bryant lead her
horse. She said her own prayer of thanks that she came across no one as she
crossed through the vegetable garden to the stable. As she made her way through
the dimly lit stalls, a loud grunt stopped her in her tracks. She waited in
agony for several seconds before continuing on. As she rounded a corner, she
discovered the source of the grunt and cautiously edged her way around the
sleeping stable hand,
who
was clutching a large jug in
one hand. Finally at the far end of the stable, she found the horse she had
ridden since her arrival at Eyri Keep.

The large mare raised her head at
Elena's arrival but did not whinny or neigh; Welsh horses were trained for
silence. "Greetings, Breila," Elena whispered as she untied the rope
from the horse's bridle. "Now," she asked the horse, "dare I
risk the time it would take to saddle you?" One look at Breila's back
which came to Elena's nose and she knew she must have a saddle. Looking around
the stall, she saw her saddle hanging on the wall. Cursing each clink and
rattle of the trappings, Elena wrestled the saddle to Breila's broad back. She
cinched the straps as tightly as she could and prayed she would not fall off
when they reached a gallop. "If only there were another entrance to this
barn," she muttered as she led Breila toward the open door.

As she was about to pass the sleeping
stable hand, he snorted abruptly and sat up. When he saw Elena, he slurred,
"Her grace said I wasn't to let you go anywhere."

Elena set her face into its most
imperious expression and looked down her nose at the man who was trying to
stand. Mustering her Welsh vocabulary, she said, "I am going for a ride. I
suggest you keep your mouth shut lest I be tempted to tell the abbess what sort
of drunken lout is maintaining her stables. I'm sure she would not be at all
pleased with such conduct."

The man's eyes grew wide with fright
and as he ducked his head he asked sheepishly, "Is there anything I can do
for you while you're out riding, my lady?"

"Yes. You can try to sleep off
your intoxication so you may be sober when I return." The servant
obediently lay down and Elena marched resolutely to the great barn doors.
Peering outside, she waited several minutes until the one nun in sight finished
weeding a vegetable patch and went into one of the smaller buildings
surrounding the main abbey. Pulling Breila behind her, Elena ran for the cover
of the nearby forest. Once inside the protective darkness of the trees, she struggled
into the saddle and turned her mount west in the direction Gareth and his
friends had taken. Keeping to the shelter of the forest, she followed the
direction of the road until the encroaching darkness prevented her from seeing
where she was going in the thick woods. Rather than stopping, she cautiously
made her way to the road, which was faintly illumined by a sliver of the new
moon.

As Breila plodded confidently on,
Elena finally reflected on the consequences of her rash actions. By riding to
warn Gareth that Richard's men were on his trail, she was, in effect, aligning
herself with Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. But did she support the Welshman's
claim to the throne? Never before had Elena been posed with such a question. As
a woman she simply had to accept the mandates of those in power. Never before
had she been given the opportunity to affect the outcome of a political gambit.
It was at once a frightening and heady feeling.

Suddenly a bird screeched overhead,
startling Elena and sending all thoughts of kings and causes from her mind.
What had possessed her to venture unescorted into the depths of Wales? She
would no doubt end up dead and deservedly so for acting so stupidly. If wild
animals did not eat her, she had no doubt highway men would strike her down.
Roads in England, let alone Wales, were no place for unescorted women. Oh if
only Gareth were here, he'd--Elena stopped in mid-thought. She didn't need
Gareth. Any man would do, she merely needed an escort to discourage any
predators, be they man or beast, from attacking her. And yet, a small voice
inside her said, she had never felt as secure and protected as she had the
night she and Gareth stumbled upon the group of mercenaries. Gareth had told
her to escape, giving no thought to his own safety. Elena doubted any men of
her acquaintance in Richard's court would ever be so selfless.
Certainly not the foppish Edgeford.
He more likely to call
for his guards and then run for safety. As for her fiancé, although she
scarcely knew him, she would not be surprised if Brackley offered to share her
with the ruffians.

The later it grew and the colder
Elena became, the more she wished she were nestled against Gareth's warm chest,
as she had been that night in the cave. She did not feel well, not at all. What
in the world was she doing out here?

Elena awoke with a start as Breila
stumbled over a rock. How long had she been asleep? She looked up at the sky.
The moon had set, but she had no idea how to read the stars. Suppose she had
missed an important turn off? Elena reined in the huge mare.

"Now what do I do, Breila?"
she asked her mount. The horse snorted softly in reply. "Well if you
hadn't let me fall asleep I might have a better idea of where we are!"
When Breila remained quiet, Elena relented. "Of course, I had no idea
where we were when we began this journey so I don't know how staying awake
would have helped." Elena reached down and patted her mount's neck.
"You're forgiven, Breila."

"Who's that?" a rough voice
called out from the trees to her right. Elena froze, her heart lodged in her
throat preventing a reply. "I say, who's been foolish enough to pass our
lair in the middle of the night?" When
the question was
followed by thrashing about in the underbrush
, Elena wrapped both hands
in Breila's mane and dug her heels into the horses sides as hard as she could.

"Run!" she screamed. The
tired horse sprang into a gallop, quickly putting distance between them and the
voice in the bushes. Elena dared a glance over her shoulder and saw three
figures stumble onto the road.

"Get the horses!" one of
them shouted. "There's only one!"

Elena turned her attention back to
staying on her mount. As they ran, Elena realized she must have slept longer
than she thought for the sky was lightening behind her. She reined in abruptly
as Breila crested a peak. Below she could just make out the road which
zig-zagged
back and forth all the way down the mountain.
Elena hesitated for a second before sending Breila off the road and straight
down the mountain. The horse nearly sat on her haunches as she slid down the
steep slope, creating a landslide of rocks and dirt. They reached the next
level of road and again Elena urged Breila across the road and straight down
the mountain. Her strategy worked three more times before the exhausted horse
could not keep her feet under her any longer. Elena screamed as Breila's feet
went out from under her and she and the horse tumbled down the mountain. Elena
tried to protect her head and face as she slid, but she did not see Breila's
hoof as it grazed the top of her head, knocking her unconscious.

***

Elena awoke to a blindingly bright
sun. She squinted as she sat up, partly from the glare, partly from the
tremendous throbbing in her skull. She was coated in dust and for the first
time in her life she felt the urge to spit. Slowly easing herself to her feet
she closed her eyes when the world began to tilt dizzily. After a few moments
it seemed to level out and she opened her eyes cautiously. If this is the
thanks I get for trying to be a heroine, Elena thought, Joan of Arc can have
it.

"Breila?" she choked out.
"Where is that damn--" Elena froze when she saw the huge horse
sprawled several feet away from her. With staggering steps she crept over to
the horse and knelt down by its head. Breila whinnied softly, but did not move.

"Oh, Breila, I'm so sorry,"
Elena whispered. Although she could see no obvious wounds, the horse's awkward
position left no doubt in her mind that Breila's back was broken. To Elena's
surprise, tears filled her eyes and began coursing down her cheeks. She stroked
Breila's face and the horse made a valiant effort to rise. Elena sucked in a
breath, hoping that she had been wrong about the horse's injuries, knowing she
wasn't as soon as Breila whinnied in pain and fell back against the ground
heavily. Tears streaked Elena's dusty face as the horse's breathing finally
slowed and then stopped altogether. A sob escaped her and she pressed her face
against Breila's neck.

All her life, horses had been like
servants to her. They had served a purpose and she forgot their existence the
moment that purpose was accomplished. Unlike her friends, she had never seen
her horses as pets, never felt more than a passing interest in what was
carrying her. Now she was suddenly overcome with heart-wrenching grief for the
horse she had ridden but a few days. What a noble animal, Elena thought. She
kept going when I pushed her, when she must have been exhausted. Elena sobbed
harder, her breaths coming in great heaves. After several minutes, her sobs diminished
and her innately sensible self began to reassert itself.

Pushing herself up, she told herself
firmly, "I'm going to make myself sick if I carry on like this. And that
is no thanks for Breila’s sacrifice." She looked around, wondering where
she was. Crouching down, she could just see the road below through the thick
cluster of trees. She turned back to Breila and with one finally
caress
, left the horse and began making her way towards the
road.

She had no idea what time it was, but
the sun was high in the sky and the heat was pressing down on her oppressively,
filling her nostrils with the smell of hot pine needles and scorched earth.
Elena walked for hours, wishing she would come across a stream or a pond or
even a hut where she might ask for water. Though her stomach had long since
given up complaining at its emptiness, her throat was parched and her head felt
light for lack of water.

Her head drooping, she kept walking
down the winding road, back and forth as it descended the mountain. In some
places it was no more defined than a worn place in the grass. In others, it was
wide and smooth enough to allow a cart to pass. When she stumbled over a rock,
she bent to inspect her foot. Though she wore boots, they were of thin,
delicate leather, meant to peep out from under her gown as she rode, not to
support her as she hiked through the Welsh mountains. As Elena straightened,
she smoothed her kirtle, the same one she had put on that last morning at
Middleham. It was no longer the deep rich blue that was so difficult to achieve
in a dye. It was now faded and crumpled, full of dust. She pulled up the hem
and frowned at what was once a cream colored chemise of fine Italian cotton. It
was now a dingy grey and not a little tattered.

Pushing her tangled hair off her face
with a sigh, Elena continued down the road, stumbling more and more often. Oh,
if only this heat would abate, she might be able to clear her mind. A rock
found its way into her boot but she was too tired to stop and remove it so she
continued to limp along. When the sky began to cloud over, Elena was so wrapped
in her misery she did not even notice. It wasn't until the first drop hit her
face that she glanced up hopefully.

"Thank God!" she said as
loudly as her parched throat would allow.

The first drop was quickly followed
by several more and Elena let them fall on her face with pleasure. This was no
fine mist of rain, but huge cold raindrops that cooled her deliciously and did
much to restore rational thought to her muddled brain. Picking up her pace,
Elena walked as briskly as her sore feet would allow.

***

"It's no use Gareth! The rivers
is too swollen," Cynan shouted over the roar of the Dovey River. The
steady downpour of the last hour had filled the narrow stream until it was
spilling over its banks and the shallow ford that the men had sought to cross
was now impassable.

"We'll have to backtrack and try
to cross higher upstream," yelled Bryant.

"Damn!" Gareth bit out.
They had made slow progress all day because Bryant's horse had thrown a shoe.
Now with this delay, they would be at least a day late reaching Aberystwyth. He
wheeled Isrid in a tight circle and led the way back up the muddy road.