A Dishonorable Knight (19 page)

All of this proved too much for
Gareth. He felt that at any moment he would go insane with wanting her. Amazed
at himself that he had been content to let her do so much of the seducing, he
smoothly rolled her onto her back and, tearing his mouth from hers, began
trailing kisses down her throat, across her collarbone to her breasts. Elena's hands
tangled in his hair again, running restlessly through his rumpled locks as her
breathing came in quick and unsteady inhalations. She gasped and arched against
him when he trailed his tongue along her navel. Gareth was just about to tug
his breeches off when Cynan pounded on the door and shouted, "Gareth! Wake
up! The rain has stopped and there's a rumor that a troop of English soldiers
are headed this way and they've been asking after us!"

Gareth glanced up at Elena who looked
disoriented and dazed as she propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a
glorious riot of chestnut curls. "Damn!" he said under his breath as
he rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. He leaned over, resting his elbows
on his knees, his head cradled in his hands as he tried to slow his breathing.
Finally lifting his head he turned to Elena. "I'm sorry, but we're going
to have to leave right away. I know you've not recovered fully and I'd leave
you here if I could, but if the English find you, they may wonder why you're here
alone." Standing, Gareth arranged his crumpled clothing, being careful to
keep his back turned until the evidence of his passion subsided. When he felt
collected enough to turn back, he wished he hadn't. Elena was struggling into
her chemise, pulling the bunched yards of ivory material over her head, her
slender body creamy in the morning light. Gareth struggled and lifted his hands
to help her. He stopped himself inches from touching her, his hands shaking,
wondering if
she would be insulted by his help
. Of course,
he thought to himself, considering what they had been doing--what they would
have done had they not been interrupted--surely it would not be too forward to
simply help her dress...

But Gareth had debated too long.
Elena finally got the chemise in place and reached for her kirtle, carefully
avoiding his questioning gaze. When she pulled this over her head and began
struggling to tie the laces in back, Gareth finally forced his inhibitions down
and
said,
"I will help you with that, my
lady." She said nothing as he pulled the laces tight and tied them with
shaking fingers. As soon as he was done, she looked around, leaning over to
search under the bed.

"Where are my boots?"

Gareth racked his brain. What had
they done with her boots when they'd undressed her?

"I--" he began.

"Oh, here they are," Elena
said as she carefully edged around him without touching so much as a fold of
his clothing and retrieved her worn boots from the hearth where they had dried
stiff and misshapen. Gareth tried to speak and had to clear his throat instead.

"They'll soften up after you've
worn them a bit. They were sopping wet when we took them off."

Elena finally looked at him, her eyes
opening wide with shock. "We?" she squeaked.

Gareth realized she must have been
thinking of Cynan and Bryant and hastily said, "Er, rather, the wife of
the man who owns this inn. She was very kind and, uh, put you to bed when we
brought you here. You were very ill. A fever." Gareth's tongue felt like
it was tied in knots. "We weren't sure you were going to live."

Elena frowned. "I've never been
ill before." She suddenly remembered Cynan's words. "Gareth! The
abbess! She told the English captain that you were on your way to help
Richmond. And the soldiers–I think they were the same ones we ran across
on the way to your father’s house. If they catch you'll they'll surely execute
you for betraying King Richard."

"Was that why you were on the
road that night? Were you following us? Were you trying to warn us?"

Elena hesitated, clearly flustered.
Gareth felt his focus on her intensify. If she cared enough to warn him,
perhaps
she—his thought was interrupted by the entrance
of the innkeeper's wife
.

"I thought your wife might want
some breakfast before you go tearing off."

Elena looked at Gareth with raised eyebrows.
He flushed visibly and turned to the woman. "We haven't time to lose. She
can eat at the next town."

The woman smiled at Elena, shaking
her head. "A man has yet to surprise me," she confided. "I just
knew he'd say something like that. Although, considering how he hovered over
you for the past few days, I had hoped he would prove to be more sensible than
most." She shrugged eloquently. "Oh well, no matter. I've packed
everything in this sack. You can eat on the way, for no doubt these men will
not want to stop until long after nightfall."

Gareth stared at the woman, baffled.

Cynan suddenly stuck his head in the
door and said impatiently, "Gareth we really must be leaving."

"We're coming right now,"
he said, gesturing for Elena to precede him.

"Now you stay dry and make sure
they stop and let you rest whenever you feel tired. You've barely recovered
from your illness and you've yet to recover your strength," the woman said
kindly.

Elena nodded and taking the heavy
sack of food, moved out the door and down the hall. Once outside, Bryant helped
her onto Isrid's back.

As Gareth came out of the small inn,
he saw Bryant grinning up at Elena. He looks like a lovesick fool, he thought
with a twinge of jealousy. Quickly repressing that feeling he looked at Elena.
How he wished she did not have to ride with him. It was going to be unbearable
torture to ride the next two days with her pressed against him. But there was
no way around it. He could not bear the thought of her riding pressed so
against Cynan or Bryant. Gritting his teeth, he walked over to his horse and
climbed on, trying unsuccessfully not to touch Elena. As he leaned over to
adjust his stirrups, he heard Bryant talk from the other side of the horse.

"My lady," he began
hesitantly. "I must apologize."

"For what?" Elena asked.

"It was my fault you took a dunk
in the river the other night. That was no doubt what caused you to be sick so
long."

Elena stared at Bryant. Gareth knew
she had no idea what he was talking about.

"When we crossed the Dovey, I
didn't have a tight enough rein on my horse and when he bolted, the safety line
that was tied around us all pulled you into the river. A dousing like that
would kill a healthy man and you have every right to be angry with me for my
stupidity."

Reaching over, she surprised Gareth
by patted Bryant’s hand and saying somewhat awkwardly, "
There
,
there. I'm fine now and that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

Her consolation obviously did not
sound as weak to Bryant's ears as it did to Gareth’s because the young man
looked up at her in wonder and smiled sheepishly.

"We've got to move, we're
already a day late reaching the meeting and we've probably got English soldiers
behind us," said Gareth crossly. The lovesick look on Bryant’s face made
him unaccountably angry. As soon as Cynan and Bryant were mounted, he nudged
Isrid into a gallop.

Their rapid pace prevented
conversation and even when they slowed to let the horses rest, Gareth was
unsure how to talk to Elena. Clearly their relationship had taken a dramatic turn
from the hostility of their first days on the road and even from their wary
peace at Eyri Keep. But where exactly they stood as friends or lovers, he knew
not.

He tried to see her face, even
leaning sideways on the pretext of checking Isrid’s girth strap. She appeared
lost in thought, her expression impossible to read.

Whatever path their relationship
took, they were clearly stuck together. Gareth could not risk her
safety—and theirs—by leaving her at another abbey. His father had
been certain the abbess at Dinas Mawddwy supported Henry Tudor. They could not
chance another mistaken loyalty.

Suddenly weary of trying to figure
out his feelings, much less Elena’s he forced his mind to consider the upcoming
meeting with Henry Tudor’s supporters. Though his path seemed to have been
chosen for him, he did not begrudge it. He had decided to throw his lot in with
Tudor and his kinsmen. Thoughts of battle plans and weaponry kept his thought
off his beautiful companion for the next several hours.

Though his mind was otherwise
occupied, his body was finely tuned to her every movement and Gareth looked
down as Elena shuddered. Surely she could not be cold; the day was hot and
muggy thanks to the days of rain. Still, she had just recovered from a fever...

"My lady? Are you cold?"

Elena started. "Wh-what?"

"You shivered. Are you
cold?"

Elena glanced over her shoulder at
him. Her clothes were sticking damply to her and her hair was plastered against
her neck. He realized it was a foolish question.

"I'm not cold," she said peevishly.

Gareth frowned. Elena had never been
anything but haughty and arrogant. He was a fool to think otherwise, a few
kisses notwithstanding. But as the memory of that morning rose unbidden in his
mind, he could not help but admit to himself that Elena had changed from their
first meeting and that she was no doubt simply tired from their journey and her
recent illness. She still had the ability to make him feel awkward and
tongue-tied, but she had followed them, on foot apparently, to warn them of the
English soldiers. And though she had been feverish at the time, he could not
help but remember her whispered plea that he not
leave
her again. And then there was the matter of waking up with her in his arms and
her sweetly passionate kisses. There had been nothing arrogant about the way
she had twined her fingers in his hair and gasped when he had kissed her--

Gareth shifted uncomfortably in the
saddle. They really were going to have to procure another horse. She simply
could not ride in front of him across Wales and back. It was awkward, it was
tiring, and
..
.
and
it was
going to prove downright embarrassing if her hips kept pressing against his
every time Isrid climbed a hill.

When they stopped to let the horses
drink at a stream in the late afternoon, Gareth splashed cold water over his
head, trying to rid his mind of the picture of Elena's creamy skinned body
against the rough sheets at the inn. When they were ready to continue, he
shifted packs on the saddle around and mounted first, hauling Elena up to perch
behind him. Now why didn't I think of this earlier?
he
asked himself as he prodded Isrid ahead of the other two horses, blissfully
ignoring the questioning glances of Cynan and Bryant.

Two hours later, Gareth was wondering
what could have made him do such a stupid thing. Elena had been forced to hold
onto his
waist
as her new perch was more precarious
than sitting in front of him had been. The feel of her arms around his waist
was nearly as disturbing as was the feel of her backside pressed against him.
What was worse was when she had fallen asleep, nearly an hour ago. With her
head resting on his shoulder, he could clearly feel the imprint of her breasts
against his back. Her grip around his waist had loosened in sleep and her hands
lay loosely on his upper thighs, all but brushing his crotch. This was torture!

When they finally stopped to make
camp, Elena was still soundly sleeping.

"Don't wake her," Bryant
whispered. "She's still not fully recovered her strength."

"I wasn't going to wake
her," Gareth said edgily. He pushed his friend's hands away when Bryant
would have taken Elena in his arms, but soon realized that he had no way to get
down without dumping her on the ground. He reluctantly handed Elena down to
Bryant and scrambled out of the saddle. He turned to take Elena but Bryant was
already carrying her to the blankets Cynan had laid on a bed of leaves.
Stifling the insane spurt of jealousy at the protective air Bryant had assumed
over Elena, Gareth unsaddled, fed, and watered the horses before returning to
their makeshift camp in the middle of a thick copse of trees.

"Dare we start a fire?"
Bryant asked. "Lady Elena surely needs to stay warm and it would make
cooking a good deal easier."

Gareth stared hard at his friend who
until a few weeks ago could not say "Good day" to a woman without
turning beet red and falling over his feet. Now Bryant was efficiently tucking
his own blanket around Elena, brushing the hair off her face before he turned
for Gareth's answer.

"We'd better not risk it."

"But Gareth--"

"She'll be in a good deal more
danger if the English soldiers come across us than she will eating cold food on
a warm summer night."

Bryant started to argue when Elena
spoke. "That woman this morning gave me a bag of food to eat for
breakfast. Surely there's something in there that would not need a fire."

Bryant stared at Gareth indignantly.
"Lady Elena is sick for three days and you did not even give her enough
time to break her fast before we left?"

Gareth bristled at his tone. "If
I recall, you were more than a little anxious to avoid being hung for a traitor
yourself."