A Dishonorable Knight (43 page)

Elena smiled, remembering his promise
to buy her a new dress as they were entering Aberstwyth. "And you do keep
your promises."

Gareth looked at her, a pleased
expression crossing his face. "I do everything in my power to keep
them."

"Then promise me a down-filled
tick and freshly scented linens."

"I said I do everything in my
power, Elena," he said with a laugh. "That, I am afraid, we will have
to leave to the grace of God. I think we will be lucky to settle for a straw
tick that has relatively few bedbugs!"

"Ugh! If that is the case, then
I will hold you to your promise of hot water."

"The hottest!"

They reached West Dover Street within
a matter of minutes and Elena immediately recognized where they were.

"Excellent," she said.
"If we turn up here, there are at least four inns within two blocks of
each other. If we go right, there are two more inns, and several pubs where we
might get an excellent meal."

"So which way do we go? Do you
have a preference on where you spend you last evening with Sir Gareth?"

Startled, Elena looked at him
sharply, a worried frown creasing her brow. This was to be their last night.
Why had she not realized it? As she stared at him, Gareth flushed. "I
didn't mean...I just meant that this would be the last time you would have to
put up with...Which inn do you wish to stay in?"

Torn from her thoughts by his
question, she looked up the street, trying to remember which inn had served
them best when she had come with Lady Elizabeth and the other
ladies-in-waiting.

"I believe the third inn up here
has the cleanest rooms. They are also rarely full, if I remember
correctly."

"Then let us proceed there
immediately. I am glad for your sake if they have clean accommodations, but do
you recall if they had good food as well?"

Elena laughed. "Yes, I believe
it was most satisfactory." With a devilish grin she added, "I believe
their best offering is fish." She was rewarded with a look of horror on
Gareth's face.

They walked up the tidy street and
paused at a hanging wooden sign that declared it to be the Inn of the Lion's
Heart. Gareth peered in the open door. "Shall we?"

Elena hesitated. The last time she
had entered this inn, she had been dressed in a gown of blue silk, a necklace
of gold inset with sapphires about her neck, her hair intricately braided and
wound about her head. As she glanced down at the wrinkled and travel-stained
tunic she had thought so practical just a week ago, she knew she could not
enter that inn, regardless of whether or not the innkeepers recognized her.

"Let us go to another inn."

"What? Why? This seems like a
perfectly acceptable place to stay."

"No, I don't think so. Why don't
we go to one of the inns near a
pub.
That way you can
get a real meal."

"I don't understand why we can't
stay here and still go eat at one of the pubs." Gareth studied her
distraught face. "Elena, what's wrong? Tell me truthfully, now."

Elena paused. How could she possibly
make Gareth understand that a lady had her pride? She looked into Gareth's eyes
and reminded herself that he had been remarkably tolerant these past weeks.
Deciding to put her faith in him she said, "Suppose they recognize
me?"

"Recognize you? What do you
mean? Why should they recognize you?"

"Because I have been here
several times before."

"Good! Perhaps we will get
better service." Gareth moved to enter the inn.

"No!" Elena said, grabbing
his tunic and pulling him back.

"Elena," he said,
exasperation evident in his voice. "What is it? Why should it matter if
they recognize you or not?"

"Because," she hissed,
"if they recognize me, they will no doubt notice what I am wearing and
that I am traveling alone in the company of a man who is obviously not my
father! Should word get back to court of such behavior, I would be
ruined."

"Oh," Gareth said,
comprehension dawning on his face. "Then where should we go?"

Elena gestured down the street.
"I never attended either of the two inns down the street."

"Then in one of those inns shall
we lodge.
"

They trudged down the street in the
lengthening shadows of the summer sunset until they came to the first of the
two inns.

"Will this do?" Gareth
asked Elena.

She studied the small inn. The sign
hanging over the door declaring it to be The Lamb' Quarters was not painted as
brightly or adeptly as the previous inn's, but the inside appeared to be just
as neat, and Elena was certain she had never stepped foot in it before.

"This is fine," she said
with a nod.

"Let's go, then." Gareth
started forward but again Elena stopped him. "Wait!"

"What is it now?"

"I can't go in there looking
like this!"

"What do you mean? I thought you
said you've never been in here before? Why will they care if you aren't dressed
for high court?"

Elena stomped her foot. "It's
not that I'm not in a court dress. It's that I'm not in
any
dress. No respectable lady goes around in men's hose and rough
tunics!"

Gareth dropped his head back and
stared at the darkening sky. When he rolled it forward again, he asked,
"What would you have me do, then, Elena? In order for you to change, we
need a room. In order to get a room, we have to go inside and pay for one.
Since you can't get to the room without going inside the inn, I fear we are at
an impasse."

Elena gave her coldest glare. Gareth
sighed wearily. "Very well. I will go in and obtain a room. You wait out
here with the horses. Try not to be noticed. We wouldn't want anyone from court
hearing that you had sunk so low as to wear a practical riding outfit. After I
obtain the room, we will go around back and stable the horses. You can then
sneak up the back stairs if they have back stairs. Will that suit you?"
She nodded meekly. "Good!" was Gareth's response.

He returned in a few minutes and led
the horses down a narrow alley to the small stable behind the inn. Fortunately
there was a rickety back staircase and by the time they had attended the horses
and made it upstairs, there was a small wooden tub of hot water awaiting them
in the room. Elena quickly stripped and stepped into the shallow tub, glad for
the tingling of the hot water on her feet and calves. Why was it, she wondered,
that bathing in hot water had become the exception the past two months? So
absorbed was she in her bath that she did not notice Gareth who, after
depositing their scant luggage, sat on the edge of the bed, his right elbow on
his knee, his chin cupped in that hand. It was only when she stood, her hair
dripping, her body cooling from the hot water that she realized that Gareth was
studying her intently.

Since the first night they made love,
Elena had not experienced embarrassment or awkwardness in Gareth's presence.
Now, for some reason, she felt shy and at a distinct disadvantage as she stood
knee-deep in water while Gareth watched her, his eyes dark with something
deeper than passion. She reached for the thin piece of linen that was to serve
as a towel. Rather, she thought about covering herself. Her arms refused to
move. In fact, her whole body seemed to have turned to marble. It was as if she
had just
laid
eyes on Gareth, and he her.

Slowly, Gareth rose and time seemed
to slow as he crossed the few steps that lay between them. The pale blue light
of encroaching dusk from the small dirty window was the room's only
illumination. It made everything in the room, including Gareth, seem ethereal
and not of this world. As he grew closer, all Elena could see of him were his
eyes, their grey depths nearly black in the dim light. When they grew too close
to focus on, she closed her eyes and awaited his kiss. When it came, it was
feather-light as it skimmed her lips, her damp cheeks,
her
warm neck. With each meeting between his lips and her skin, his kisses grew
bolder and when they returned to her own mouth, they nearly seared her.

Without a word spoken between them,
Gareth scooped Elena up into his arms and crossed to the low bed that was the
room's only furnishing. As if his reminder that this was
their
last evening together was foremost in his mind, he made love to her with an
intensity and boldness that left Elena senseless. In their previous bouts of
lovemaking, they had given and taken equally. But tonight, Elena felt as if
Gareth were another man. He was clearly in charge of her passion and her body.
Gone tonight were any of his endearing boyish qualities like when he had asked
her approval of this kiss or that caress. Tonight he was a man confident in his
abilities, confident that he would wring out of her passions and emotions she
would feel with no one else.

They still had not spoken near an
hour later when they finally arose in the near total darkness of a summer's
eve. Gareth quickly bathed while Elena struggled into her gown unaided. She
combed her hair with her fingers, wishing she at least had the hairpins
necessary for the simplest of fashion's coiffures. She would have to settle for
a plain braid down her back. As she began plaiting her still-damp tresses,
Gareth's voice stopped her. "Don't. Leave it loose."

Elena turned to him, surprised.
"But I don't even have a veil to cover it."

"I don't want it covered."
When she still hesitated, he continued, "Please, Elena. Let me enjoy your
beauty one last evening. Surely word will not reach Richard's court that you
went to supper with unbound hair."

Elena shook her hair loose and raised
her eyebrows at Gareth. "Better?"

He pulled his shirt over his head and
smiled. "Perfect," he said softly.

As they made their way down the
narrow front staircase, Gareth took Elena's hand
in his own
and tucked it into the crook of his arm.

***

Supper in the Henry Billingsley pub
was more than adequate to make up for their week's worth of eating camp food.
Glad that in the noisy and crowded pub no one seemed to notice her, for women
generally did not eat in public rooms. She ordered a second portion of the
savory stew and helped herself to a large slice of Gareth's meat pie. The thick
mug of ale placed in front of her was delicious and she drained it not once,
but twice that evening. And when Henry Billingsley himself placed a plate of
hot and crusty currant tarts in front of her, she felt it would be churlish in
the least to turn them down. By the time they left the boisterous crowd in the
pub, Elena felt as though she would burst from food and her head was pleasantly
fuzzy from the strong ale. In fact, so pleasantly fuzzy was her mind that she
did not notice that Gareth remained glumly silent as they made their way up the
darkened street to their inn. Once in the small upstairs room, Elena giggled
helplessly as she tried unsuccessfully to unlace her houppeland. Throwing her
hands up in mock despair, she gave up and flopped face down on the bed.

Gareth tossed his shirt onto the
small pile of luggage in the corner and said, "Come Elena. You can't sleep
in your gown. Stand up and let me help you remove it."

"No," said Elena, her voice
muffled by the pillow.

"You will be much more
comfortable once you do."

"No."

Gareth sighed. "Why won't you
stand up Elena?"

"Because I can't find my
arms," she said with a giggle.

"That's probably because you're
laying on top of them. Here," he said, grabbing her shoulders and rolling
her over. "Now can you find them?"

"Oh yes," she said
expansively. Lifting them up, she threw them around Gareth's shoulders and
pulled him down on top of her.

"Elena!" Gareth tried to
sound severe, but the laughter in his voice won out. He never would have
thought to see the regal Lady Elena tipsy. Would she never cease to amaze him?
Rolling off of her and standing, he pulled her to her feet and began unlacing
her gown. She wobbled on her feet but seemed content to remain still while he
hung her gown on a hook on the wall and then removed her chemise. She held onto
his shoulders while he tugged off her boots but when he moved to stand up, she
fell over, her torso draped against his back. Gareth paused, uncertain if she
were playing or merely passed out. "Elena?" he called. When her only
answer was rhythmic deep breathing, he wrapped his arms around her legs and
stood, her body limply draped over his shoulder. He carefully deposited her on
the low bed and drew the covers up. Minutes passed as he watched her sleep,
memorizing every curve of her face, which was illuminated by a shaft of
moonlight. As he looked on her, he was reminded of another night when he had
tried to imprint her beauty in his mind: the night she had ridden to warn him
of the traitorous abbess. Then, as now, he had feared losing her, though now
the fear stemmed from the thought that he would have to watch as she married
the repulsive earl, see her grow round with his child, wondering if the child
were the earl's or his own.