A Dishonorable Knight (46 page)

Finally, the king spoke. "And
when Lady Elena had recovered, you and she immediately returned to see if I had
arrived at Nottingham."

Gareth thought frantically to determine
if there was anything else he should add. He could think of nothing. "Yes.
We traveled to Nottingham and learned in the city that you were in residence
and in all health."

"And you swear this story to be
true?"

"On my sword and on the good
service I have provided you since first I came to your court." Gareth held
his breath, waiting to see if he would be believed.

"Very well," Richard
murmured. Raising his voice to its court-addressing level, he said, "We
are thankful for your service in protecting
Our
life
and for rescuing and protecting Our good Lady Elena. We charge you to remain
with
Us
as We will no doubt require service of this
caliber again." The king turned to his high chancellor and began
discussing the next issue.

Gareth bowed, backed up several
paces, and bowed again before turning and leaving, Sir Jasper at his elbow.
When they had exited the main hall into the bright afternoon sunlight that
filled the large bailey, Sir Jasper spoke. "Don't take his skepticism to
heart, Gareth. The king is greatly occupied with Henry Tudor's threat and he
sees a spy in every shadow."

Gareth kept his face an immobile
mask. His attempt to thank Sir Jasper was waved away. Instead he asked the
senior knight, "Were those brigands who attacked us Henry's men?"

"No. As it turns out, they were
men hired by Elizabeth Woodville to capture her daughter out of Richard's
grasp. Apparently, the woman has lost all reason and she feared Richard meant
to force Elizabeth to marry him simply to cement his claim to the throne, as if
he needs that."

Gareth thought that if what little he
had gleaned from Elena about Richard's plans for Lady Elizabeth were true, the
mother was uncannily shrewd rather than mad. The two men made their way to the
far end of the bailey where a group of knights and men-at-arms whose presence
was not required in court were practicing swordplay. Gareth and Sir Jasper
paused on the edge of the practice field, watching the men.

"We've no idea exactly how many
men Tudor will be able to gather once he lands. He has the assistance of
several foreign crowns and, so our King's spies tell us, much support from
Wales, for Welsh blood runs in his veins."

Gareth thought he should not appear
too
innocent so he said, "I had
heard as much--he is French too, am I correct?"

"Yes, he is the grandson of
Henry V's widow, Catherine, who was the daughter to the King of France. No
doubt the French king is his most generous benefactor." Gareth knew Henry
Tudor's lineage, but nodded his head as if learning it anew. "His only claim
to King Richard's crown is through the bastard children of John Beaufort."

"I thought they were
legitimized."

Sir Jasper scoffed. "Only on the
condition that they never lay claim to the throne! Which just goes to show you
what the deviousness of the Welsh will push through." He paused, his eyes
widening as he looked at Gareth. "Oh, Gareth, forgive me. I did not mean
to imply--"

Gareth raised his hand to stop the
apology. "Please, Sir Jasper, think nothing of it. I'll be the first to
admit that the Welsh can be calculating. What other reason could explain why
there used to be so much fighting between the lords of Wales?" Sir Jasper
nodded and the two men turned their attention back to the mock battles being
waged.

Though Gareth pretended to be
studying the men's form and style, he was reflecting on Sir Jasper's words.
Aye, the Welsh could change their loyalty in a heartbeat, but usually they did
so only when Wales was being trod upon. Had Richard not allowed English priests
to replace the Welsh clergy, or English lords to rule Welsh lands, Wales would
even now support him as King of England. But most importantly, had Richard not
supported the laws which denied a Welshman the rights of citizenship merely
because Welsh blood ran through his veins, he would not now be having to worry
that Henry's army would be greatly comprised of Welshmen seeking the same
rights every Englishman took for granted.

As Gareth stood there, surrounded by
the noise of a productive, war-prepared castle, all of the arguments against Richard
brought up at the Aberstwyth meeting came back to him. They coalesced into a
solid determination to see a better king on the throne.
Cymru
, which could really only be translated as
"Welshness," flowed through his veins and the weight of guilt and indecision
which had bowed his shoulders since he had first heard of Henry Tudor suddenly
slid off and broke into pieces about his feet, to be kicked away with the
slightest shift of the spurs which adorned his worn boots.

He looked to Sir Jasper who was shouting
instructions to a new knight on the field. He would no doubt be facing this
noble man on the field, for Sir Jasper believed most firmly that Richard was
God's choice as King of England. But suddenly, Gareth felt the same passionate
response to Henry Tudor's claim. No doubt if he had been born and raised in
northern England, and Sir Jasper had grown up in Wales, their loyalties would
be reversed. But fate had decided they would soon fight for different kings and
no amount of guilt on Gareth's part would change that. With an invigorating
sense of freedom and relief, Gareth strode forward and picked up a wooden sword
from the pile of practice weapons and joined the practicing men.

Elena spent her next few days
enjoying the comforts of velvet gowns, down-stuffed pillows, hot meals, sweet
deserts, music in the background, and hours spent embroidering with the other
ladies. After she had entertained them with a carefully constructed story of
her adventures, they had returned to the normal court gossip of flirtatious
intrigue and fashion faux pas--or so it seemed. Elena could not help but
suspect that the old rumors surrounding her virtue were resurfacing. Though she
seemed to have resumed her position as cherished handmaiden, there was something
different about the entire court's attitude toward her, especially the other
ladies-in-waiting. As Elena worked on embroidering a tapestry one afternoon,
she wondered if perhaps it was her attitude towards them that had changed.
Mayhap both. Certainly she tired more rapidly of the inane banter the women
often indulged in. The political machinations of court seemed somehow more
vulgar and blatant than she remembered them. And lately, when she had been
attending Richard, she seemed to feel an odd repugnance. He was constantly in a
foul mood, yelling at his advisors, attendants, and serfs alike. At one time or
another during his daylong meetings with advisors, he accused everyone in his
court of conspiring to dethrone him. Whenever Elena brought refreshments into
the map-strewn study where he spent hours each day planning his defense against
Henry Tudor, Richard regarded her warily, as if he suspected her of
eavesdropping or snooping through his papers. No more did he have flattering
words for her. Not once did he ask after her family, bidding her send his
regards to her mother when next she wrote as he had before they left Middleham
castle all those weeks ago.

Elena paused to rethread her needle,
judging the effect of the tapestry. Its base was of heavy gold fabric and onto
it she was working an intricate design of pomegranates, vines, and lions in
rich jewel-colored silk threads. Returning to her work, her reflection of her
present life resumed.

More and more she seemed to be
spending time alone, sewing or staring out the window at the men practicing for
war. During those times, like now, she did not have to decipher the veiled
hostility of the other women of the court and she was free to let her mind
wander. More often than not, her mind led her willingly to thoughts of Gareth
and his last-minute declaration of love. Over and over she replayed that scene
in the bailey. She saw the intense look on his face as he realized they were
about to be separated. She could hear his voice, low and hoarse as he said, "I
love you!" In her mind she stared at his face as her skittish horse was
dragged away and she was lifted from its saddle. Sometimes, when she was
feeling particularly alienated from the other members of court, she would
rearrange that last scene. She would have Gareth proclaim his love right before
they reached Nottingham castle. Then, instead of entering the great gates, they
would turn and ride as fast as they could across the landscape and not stop
until they reached Eyri Keep where they would marry.

Other times--times that made her
cheeks flame with embarrassment and excitement--she would imagine the words
escaping him in the heat of passion. Or in the tender quiet afterwards when
they lay in each other's arms. Regardless of how the scenario began, it always
ended the same: with their return to Eyri Keep. Eyri Keep had become an ideal
in her mind where she was cherished without having to manipulate others, where
she was admired without hostility, where Enid and Elen had proven themselves to
be true friends who did not pretend to like her one moment and disdain her the
next. And Eyri Keep was the place where she would look forward to her husband's
return. As it stood now, she was dreading word of Brackley's return to
Nottingham.

Catherine, the previously timid
kitten, had somehow grown claws in the intervening weeks and had informed Elena
that her fiancée had not been overly dismayed to learn of her disappearance and
that he had, in fact, shown her, Catherine, undeniable partiality of late.
Catherine had rambled on a great deal about the questions that were arising
concerning Elena's good name after having spent so much time alone with a man.
She had also made it quite clear that she felt she was infinitely more suited
to being the earl's wife than was Elena. Elena had long ago learned the value
of keeping her mouth shut on certain topics and she knew that should she say
anything regarding her reluctance to wed the earl--especially to Catherine--the
words would quickly find their way into Richard's ear.

Elena would have liked nothing better
than to see Catherine wed to the repugnant man instead of herself, but
considering Richard's mood of late, she knew that she must be very careful
about how she broached the subject of her betrothal lest he grow enraged and wed
her to Brackley immediately out of spite.

Her hands shaky at the thought of the
earl, Elena stabbed her thumb with her needle as she took a stitch.

"Damn!" she exclaimed,
dropping the thread and squeezing the offended digit. A bright red drop of
blood welled out of the prick and she moved instinctively to put her thumb in
her mouth. She
paused,
hand in midair as she
remembered her mother telling her that blood from a seamstress's hand rubbed
into a seam brought good luck to the wearer of the garment. Elena found a
bright red flower on the tapestry and rubbed her thumb on it. The cloth would
not be worn, but perhaps if hung in her room, would bring her good luck. At
this point, she reflected, she needed all the good luck she could get.

A knock at the door was quickly
followed by a page
who
brought word that the new
Countess of Salisbury was in residence and King Richard charged his
ladies-in-waiting to attend her on a horseback ride about the castle grounds.

Elena left her needlework and the
privacy of the large sewing room to quickly change her clothes and join the
small group of women gathered in the great hall. Amongst the women were Richard
and another well-dressed man Elena assumed was the Earl of Salisbury. Presently
they were joined by a regal looking woman of perhaps thirty
who was closely attended by a smug looking Catherine
. Elena wondered
again when Catherine had grown so cocky but with a mental shrug of her
shoulders, attributed it to life in the court. Thank my stars I have never been
so worried about my position in Richard's court, she thought, with only a touch
of irony.

Richard presented the small group of
ladies to the Countess and Elena suppressed an instinctual feeling of danger
when Richard merely mentioned her name to the countess and moved on to the next
lady. Every other time Elena had attended his noble guests, Richard had made a
special emphasis when introducing her. He had told this Duchess or that Lord
that Elena was his prized attendant, or that as they were his favorite
vassal
, so must they have his favorite lady attend them. As
a result, Elena had been showered with gifts and had been privy to many
conversations she would have otherwise been excluded from had Richard not made
a point to recognize her value and importance. That he was now ranking her with
the group of ladies who were only trusted to prepare trays of edibles and help
arrange skirts was unnerving.

As the ladies were helped onto their
horses and began riding around the bailey, Elena ignored Catherine's inane
chatter to the countess. She instead mulled over the loss of her status as the
king's favorite. To her surprise, she found it did not bother her, but she did
worry at Richard's reasons for it. Had he merely grown weary of her or were
there greater reasons for his recent coldness towards her. Elena was not
oblivious to the fact that people disappeared from court, never to be seen
again. She was also aware that if Richard thought she had gained any sympathies
to Henry Tudor during her stay in Wales, if he had somehow found out that she
was in the very house where Tudor plans were being laid, her life would be very
short indeed. All her protestations of innocence, all her vows of loyalty would
mean nothing, for Richard dealt quickly and harshly with those suspected of
betraying him from his highest advisor to the lowest serf.