A Dishonorable Knight (3 page)

"Not such an honor, my lord, as
I am nearly an old maid," Elena said, lowering her eyes modestly. Oh how
she wished she could blush when she wanted as cousin Sarah was able to do!

The man laughed. "My dear Elena,
not for one moment do I believe that you are worried about becoming an old
maid. Nevertheless, I have it on the greatest authority that you will be
betrothed before the night is out."

Elena smiled her most dazzling smile,
fully aware of the catch in her partner's breath as he looked into her
sparkling eyes. As the dance ended, a page touched Edgeford's arm.

"My lord, the King has
instructed me to inform you that he has time now to hear your petition."

Turning back to Elena, Edgeford bowed
low over her hand. "Pray forgive me for abandoning you, my lady. I only
hope we will share many more such enjoyable dances in the future."

Elena watched the tall man as he made
his way gracefully through the drunken revelers to meet with the King. She
clasped her hands in front of her to keep from clapping in delight. She had
only been hoping the earl would approach the king by month's end. Indeed, it
now seemed she would be Lady Edgeford by that time. So absorbed was she in her
thoughts, she did not notice the man standing at her side.

"My lady?"

Elena turned to find her original
dance partner. She stared at him blankly.

The man cleared his throat. "I
fear we were not partners long enough to discover each other's names." He
bowed low over her hand. "I am Sir Gareth ap Morgan."

A Welshman, Elena thought, closing
her eyes with a grimace. Why did every lowborn man in Christendom think she was
eager to make his acquaintance? No doubt he had heard of her questionable
virtue and sought to make the most of it. Opening her eyes, she saw the man
staring at her expectantly.

"And you are
..?
"
he urged.

"And I am on my way to becoming
the lady of a wealthy estate, so please think not to woo me to bed with tales
of your battlefield glories or proud stories of your herd of sheep back
home."

The knight flushed to the roots of
his hair, his brows drawing together sharply. He seemed at a complete loss for
a response. The King’s herald calling everyone to attention saved Elena from
having to speak further with him.

She turned expectantly, all thoughts
of the Welshman at her side disappearing. The herald made several announcements
concerning the next day's hunting activities before Richard himself stood and
addressed the room.

"Tis been a long while since we
have had the celebration of a wedding, has it not?" Cheers and bawdy
comments answered the king. "Well 'twill be a long while still till we
have another!" The king laughed at the response he received. "’Twill
be a long while because this wedding must be done properly as the groom is a
friend of
Ours
, and the lady a gentle maid. You must
wait until Michaelmas to revel at the nuptial of this good couple." Elena
smoothed her gown and smothered a knowing smile as Richard turned and gestured
for her to join him. So pleased was she as she approached the king's dais that
she didn't even hear Gareth's muttered curse as he walked away.

"The Lady Elena de Vignon has
been a beautiful and graceful addition to
Our
retinue,
would you not agree?" More cheers greeted this comment. "For that
reason, I kept her with
Us
even after Our beloved
Queen's death.

"Though We are loathe to part
with her, My dear niece, Princess Elizabeth has convinced Us that to deny one of
Our loyal subjects the joy of having such a woman to wed is unjust."

Elena surreptitiously looked around
for Lord Edgeford.

"We have thought much on the
subject of Lady Elena's husband and it is with great pleasure that
We
call forth the lucky man, Edmund, Earl of Brackley."

Elena looked around in confusion.
Who? Then she remembered. As the earl stood and walked around the table to take
her hand, Elena felt dizzy as the blood rushing from her head dimmed the noisy
sounds of the great hall. This must be a terrible mistake, she thought. I'm
supposed to marry Edgeford, not this old—the clammy hand of her fiancee
as it grasped hers stopped her frantic train of thought. Across the room, she
spotted Edgeford who raised his goblet to her in a silent toast. In a daze, she
heard the king finish saluting their happiness and before she could stop him,
the earl was pressing a hard, bruising kiss to her lips. She smelled the ale
and sour wine on his breath and felt the stiff bristles of his beard as they
scraped her skin. She jerked her head back, but the earl had already turned
away to down the goblet of wine Richard had handed him. She stiffly accepted
the embraces of the Elizabeth and the other ladies-in-waiting.

"Be of good cheer,"
Margaret said, not unkindly, upon seeing Elena's face. "He is, after all
an earl. Would you not rather be a countess than a mere Lady?" At that,
the confused look on Elena's face slowly disappeared to be replaced by the
haughty expression Margaret was used to.

"I know not what you are talking
about," Elena said in a voice that sounded tight and brittle to her own
ears.

"Be not coy, Elena. We all know
that you have been planning to marry Lord Edgeford.”

Elena ground her teeth. How dare
these women speculate on her plans? "Perhaps you had best return to your
tea leaves, Margaret. I care not a bit for Edgeford. We are merely
acquaintances."

"Elena, few women are ever
pleased by political marriages. They are almost always to doddering old men we
know nothing about. Can you not admit you are frightened?" Margaret asked.
"Think of Princess Elizabeth. Rumor says His Majesty is considering
wedding her and he is her uncle! Think what worries she must be faced with
being the most important political pawn in the country."

"She would be queen, how worrisome
can that be? You are just trying to frighten me. ‘Tis just what you would like
to see, is it not?
Me sobbing into my cups over some man.
Well, I shall not give you the satisfaction," Elena said sharply.

With a shake of her head, Margaret
turned away and curtsied as Princess Elizabeth approached.

Elena cast a speculative glance at
the king’s niece. If the rumor Margaret mentioned was true, the princess might
be sympathetic to Elena’s wanting to avoid a distasteful marriage and could be
persuaded to argue her case before the king. Smiling her warmest smile, Elena
offered Elizabeth her seat and a glass of wine.

Gareth watched the King's niece draw
the Lady Elena down
beside
her, speaking with great
animation as Elena stared into space. He could not help but laugh. There was
justice in the world. He had no doubt that she had set her cap for the tall fop
she had maneuvered to dance with. 'Tis what she deserves, he thought, as he
doubted that cold woman could have loved such a foolish man—or any man
for that matter. Still, if her only interest was a title, she should look a
sight happier at catching an earl. With a shrug, he looked around for Cynan and
Bryant and saw them standing with a small group of men who gathered at the back
of the great hall, talking quietly amongst themselves.

As he started across the room, a
serving maid stumbled in front of him, falling on the ground and dropping a
pile of empty trays. Gareth quickly helped the young woman up, brushing off her
worn skirt before he knelt to retrieve the trays.

"Thank you, milord," the
maid said timidly, a shy smile touching her mouth.

"Be careful. God only knows the
last time these rushes were changed," Gareth said, nodding to the floor.
"Were you to fall again, we may not be so lucky as to find you," he
teased.

The young woman nodded, obviously
amazed that the knight had not cursed or yelled or simply stepped right over
her. When Gareth chucked her gently under the chin, she blushed bright pink and
stared after him with adoration as he continued on his way.

"Tis not a rumor, I tell
you," a short man of sturdy build was saying as Gareth joined his friends
at the back of the hall. "And Henry Tudor has just as much claim to the
throne as Richard does."

"More so, I say, since Henry has
not killed innocent boys for it!" answered a broad-shouldered man with
iron-grey hair. The men stopped talking when they noticed Gareth, but Cynan
spoke up.

"’Tis all right. Gareth is Welsh
and bears no great love for Richard."

Gareth frowned and glanced around at
the men gathered in the shadows. Several of them he knew as knights, men at
arms. A couple he’d not seen before but could tell by the cut of their cloth
they were noblemen, landholders.

“Aye, and
it’s
Welsh blood that will put Henry Tudor on the throne,” said a man whose accent
clearly bespoke his lineage, though Gareth did not recognize him.

“But ‘tis not his Welsh blood that
grants him the right to the throne,” hissed one of the noblemen.

Though Gareth’s knowledge of Henry
Tudor’s ancestry was sketchy at best, he knew the man to be a direct descendant
of John of Gaunt, the first Duke of Lancaster. The houses of Lancaster and
York—both children of the great Edward III—had been warring for the
crown since before Gareth was born. King Richard’s brother, Edward IV, had
claimed the throne for York after killing the Lancastrian king, Henry VI.
Though the fighting had largely involved small, scattered battles between the
noble families, should Henry Tudor successfully return to England, the war
could escalate to encompass the entire country.

"King Charles of France has
promised Henry money and ships. And with he and Oxford planning the battles,
all we need do is raise troops for them to lead," said the grey-haired
man.

"When will he land?"

"'Tis not been determined yet.
Just stay at the ready, for when the call comes, we will have to move
quickly."

Gareth turned to whisper in Cynan’s
ear. “’Tis treason these men speak. Why did you include me?”

“Because I’ve known you since we were
babes and you’re no man of Richard’s.”

Gareth would have argued further but
Cynan stepped closer into the circle of men.

Some logistical talk ensued about
chains of communication, but Gareth paid it no heed. He chewed on his lower
lip, mulling over Cynan’s comment. He’d not spoken to his friend of his
frustrations since joining Richard’s court, had made no mention of his
disenchantment with his sovereign, not to mention the persistent belief that
Richard had murdered his own nephews to secure the crown for himself.
Nonetheless, Cynan seemed to cut right to the heart of Gareth’s inner turmoil.

The group broke up as Viscount
Lovell, one of Richard's council members walked by.

Gareth pulled Cynan aside. "You
should be more careful. What are you thinking meeting like this in Richard’s own
keep? You're going to get yourself drawn and quartered."

“We’re hiding in plain sight. And
where better to recruit embittered subjects than in the viper’s own nest?”
Though Gareth had made sure to speak quietly, Cynan spoke in a normal tone of
voice.

"Will you
hush!
This is the king's own residence. Do you think you can speak ill of him and not
be heard?" Grabbing Cynan's tunic, he pulled him outside where the cool
air was refreshing after the enveloping heat of the great hall. Bryant put his
mug down and followed them. "You never did have any sense as to when to
keep your mouth shut, Cynan."

"His wife tells him that all the
time," added Bryant as he shut the rough door behind him.

"Do not tell me you're mixed up
in this, too."

"If you mean do I want Henry
Tudor on the throne, then yes, I'm mixed up in it, too."

Gareth sighed. "You are going to
get yourselves executed as traitors."

"If I am a traitor because I
would see a good and noble Welshman on the throne over a scheming murderer,
then so be it, I am a traitor," said Cynan fiercely.

"There has not been any proof
that Richard had his nephews killed," Gareth protested, though he knew
there could be no other explanation for the boys’ untimely disappearance.

Bryant spoke up. "Gareth, do you
mean to say Richard holds your loyalty and honor?"

"He is the king and I a knight.
He must have my loyalty by all the vows I took when I first put on these
spurs."

"And your honor?" Cynan
asked. "Do you believe in your heart that he is best for England and
Wales? Do you believe that his claim to the throne is more just than his
Lancastrian rival?"

Gareth paused, loathe
to betray
his oath as a knight but unable to admit he was
Richard’s man at heart.

"Come back to Gwynedd with
us."

"What?"

"You can hear the arguments for
Henry Tudor from much more level-headed men than I. Besides, your father has
not seen you in over two years."

"Do not tell me my father is
involved in this nonsense?"