A Dishonorable Knight (55 page)

Dafydd was silent for a few seconds.
"I--I don't think so. I told the man to act as though we had left in the
middle of the night. The worst that will probably happen is that they won't pay
their bill for their lodging and will no doubt demand ale and a hot meal for
free since they are on 'king's business'."

"Perhaps I should have my father
send money to the innkeeper to pay for our rooms."

"I paid him well before I woke
you. I fancy he thought we were star-crossed lovers trying to escape your
untimely marriage to a more worthy suitor."

Elena thought of Gareth and Brackley
and wished that situation
was
the greatest of her
problems. "How long do you think it will take to reach my father's
estate?"

"Not more than a day longer than
it would
had
we traveled the road. Through this
forest, we travel as the crow flies, while the road tends to wind back and
forth, traveling through each village. I expect we will arrive late afternoon
tomorrow."

"Oh how nice," Elena said.
"More sleeping on the ground."

Dafydd flushed. "I'm sorry, Lady
Elena."

Elena was instantly sorry for her
sarcasm. Was it truly better to be constantly worried about other people's
feelings? A month ago, she would have browbeaten this poor man into finding her
an inn--and a decent one at that. She sighed and said, "Oh no, you
misunderstand. Beds, like supper tables, have become a novelty for me. I shall
feel much more at home out here under the stars."

Dafydd gazed at her skeptically and
then helped her to her feet. "Well I am very used to straw ticks and
pillows. I shall be very much put out tonight!"

Elena laughed and allowed him to lift
her onto her horse.

***

They passed the night under the
branches of a giant oak tree. As Elena eased herself down onto her thin
blanket, she decided that, used to it or not, she still preferred the comforts
of a real bed complete with sheets, pillows, and blankets. The last time she
had slept under the stars, she had Gareth to cushion the hardness of the
ground. His chest had proved a most comforting pillow and his arms, though hard
with muscle, were wonderfully satisfying to sleep in. She propped her head on
her folded arm and squirmed about, trying unsuccessfully to find a position in
which a twig or pine needle or stone did not poke into some part of her body.
Through the last month of hard riding and strenuous exertions, her body had
lost much of its soft roundness.
Roundness that had, a month
ago, provided some relief from the hard objects she was now lying on.
Elena
finally rolled onto her back and after some minor adjusting, found a fairly
comfortable position in which she was neither poked nor jabbed. Her physical
ailments temporarily abated, she allowed her mind to return to Gareth. She
wondered where he was, if Richard's men were after him as well, and if he was
thinking about her as much as she was of him. In the drowsy state before sleep,
she had no energy for the anger of the day before when she had cursed the day
she had
lain
eyes on him. Instead, she envisioned a
few months into the future, when, the war between the roses settled and over,
Gareth would ride to her father's manor. In her dream (was she dreaming now? it
was hard to tell), his arm was in a sling and Isrid was coated with battle
dust. But that endearing lock of hair was still in his grey eyes that were
searching for her amongst the crowd of servants and family members who had
gathered outside to welcome this brave warrior. Finally locating her, he swung
off his horse and strode through the throng of onlookers (does he seem taller
now? she wondered in some abstract part of her dream). Upon reaching her, he
sank to his knees, and Elena decided he was going to beg her forgiveness for
abandoning her and plead for her hand in marriage. He opened his mouth to
speak, but instead of words of love, blood poured from his mouth. She screamed
as Gareth pitched forward and she saw the feathered shaft of an arrow
protruding from his back. She glanced up to see Cynan holding a bow.
"Traitor!" he yelled. "She's a traitor to the Welsh and she
serves Richard! Richard who--"

Elena awoke with a start, her eyes
not seeing the predawn light of the horizon, but instead Cynan's angry face
screaming at her. Unclenching her hands that were twisted in her skirts, she
realized she was drenched in sweat. She wiped her brow with the cuff of her
dress and took a shaky breath. She glanced over to Dafydd and saw him sleeping
peacefully a few feet away. Willing herself to relax, she stretched out and
forced her mind to act rationally. In the first place, Gareth and Cynan were
close friends, raised together since they were babies. In the second place, she
had never seen Cynan exhibit the least bit of temper, much less anger, so her
mind must have conjured someone else's image and Cynan was just the first name
she thought of. Was she a traitor to the Welsh? She had only recently begun to
acknowledge the fact that Welsh blood ran in her veins, that her mother had
been born and raised in Wales. Furthermore, she had only the day before learned
the exact details of Richard's unjust treatment of the Welsh from Dafydd.
Besides, what could she as a woman do? War was men's business. They were the
one's who started them, let them be the one's who ended them. Elena's
well-honed skill at rationalizing her way out of responsibility gave her cold
comfort that morning. Though she was no longer shaken by her bad dream--and
after what she'd been through lately, who could blame her from suffering
nightmares
?-
-she was unable to return to sleep and
instead watched the horizon through a narrow break in the trees as the sun
rose, bringing warmth and dispelling shadows.

Before long, Dafydd stirred and rose
groggily to his feet. Not realizing she was awake, he stumbled past her into
the trees, his eyes mere slits in his face. By the time he returned, Elena had
folded her blanket and retrieved two slightly bruised apples from the bag the
innkeeper had given them. She handed one to the still-befuddled Dafydd and he
plopped down on the ground to eat it.

"I'm sorry," he said when
he had devoured it. "I'm not very good at waking up in the mornings."
Pushing himself to his feet, he began to saddle the horses. Elena collected his
blanket and the food bag and stuffed them into one of the packs on his saddle.
By the time they were ready to travel, the sun had taken the chill off the air
and Elena's nightmare was but a scant memory in the back of her mind.

They rode at a brisk pace through the
edges of the forest, stopping at midday to water the horses in a shallow pond
and then continuing on. By late afternoon, Elena's stomach was loudly reminding
her that a mere apple was not sufficient food for the pace they were forced to
keep.

"Dafydd, we really must try to
find something to eat. I am near faint with hunger. Surely we can venture to
the road by now."

Dafydd turned in his saddle and gave
her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Lady Elena. I'm afraid I've not
proved a good escort in any respect have I? First I make you sleep on the
ground without so much as a pallet, and now I starve you to death.
Unfortunately, we would have not have had what little food we've eaten were it
not for that good innkeeper. If you can make it a few more hours, we should be
safe to leave the forest. There should be an inn or village where we might beg
some food."

"Beg?" Elena asked, aghast.
"Why beg?"

Dafydd looked even more sheepish.
"I'm afraid I gave the last of my coin to the innkeeper for helping us
escape."

Elena felt amongst her skirts and
found her pouch that contained her few jewels and what small amount of coin she
had elected to carry. "Find us food and I will take care of the
bill," she said imperatively but with a small quirk of a smile.

Dafydd bowed awkwardly in the saddle,
a crooked smile parting his lips. "As you command, so shall it be."

He spurred his horse to a faster pace
and led them in a more westerly direction. Within the hour, they had emerged
from the trees and made their way across rough fields until they located the
road. This far north, the road was but a narrow path of dirt and rocks, but
once on it, the horses did not have to pick their way through bramble and
fallen logs and they were able to make much better time as they doubled back to
the south and the small village just north of her parent's estate.                          

They entered the small village of
Swansonbury at dusk and Elena quickly led the way to the tiny inn which boasted
only two rooms for let and three small tables in it's dining room. The smells
wafting on the peaceful summer's eve air made Elena's mouth water and her
stomach growl in eagerness for a good meal. She dismounted without help and as
soon as she felt the circulation return to her legs, she strode to the wooden
door and pushed it open. The room was narrow and long. The ceiling was low and
the floor dirt, but the walls were whitewashed clean and the small tables were
neatly arranged in the room.
A sturdy wooden table was
propped against one of the walls and upon it were
several large pitchers
of what Elena assumed to be ale.

Her reception by the innkeeper and
his wife was polite if a bit awestruck. Elena ordered a huge meal and paid them
handsomely for it. The innkeeper stammered at the amount in his calloused hand
and insisted she must stay the night.

"It will be long dark by the
time you arrive home. You are more than welcome to stay here as our honored
guest and ride out in the morning."

Elena considered his offer. She was
exhausted,
more so now that she had a full stomach and to
simply lie down and sleep for hours and hours sounded like heaven. But
something, some worry niggled at the back of her mind. It spurred her on to
continuing home.

"I thank you for your
hospitality, but I've been absent too long. I wish to return home as quickly as
possible. Besides, It won't be but another hour on horseback."

"Of course, Lady, of course.
Safe travels!" he called out as she and Dafydd quickly climbed atop their
horses and headed down the single narrow road of the town.

***

Though it had been nearly two years
since she had last traveled the road from Swansonbury to her father's large
wooden manor, there was not much chance or their becoming lost. The road forked
about two miles south of the village: the eastern fork leading back to
Nottingham and the western fork leading directly to her home. They were also
graced with a full moon, which rose early to spill its cool, crisp light and
allowed them to proceed at a rapid pace down the pocked road.

Though she had long scoffed at
superstitions of any type, Elena could not quell the nagging worry that
something was wrong. She jumped when an owl hooted to her right, and turned
quickly, half-expecting to see Richard's men bearing down upon them. After
several minutes, Dafydd seemed to pick up on her skittishness for he asked her
quietly, "Lady Elena, is something amiss?"

She studied his face in the pale
light. She felt foolish, all right, but the Welsh were a superstitious lot,
weren't they? After all, Gareth had told her of his premonitions. Perhaps
Dafydd would understand. "I…I don't know. I just have this very odd
feeling that something is amiss. I'm sure I'm just being silly, but..."
she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders, trying to make it appear as if she
weren't really worried.

In response, Dafydd scrutinized their
surroundings and nudged his mount closer to hers. "Silly feelings have
saved my life more than once."

They continued down the road in
silence and Elena was relieved to see the fork in the road up ahead. When
Dafydd looked to her for direction, she gestured with her chin to the western
road. Elena decided that her "feeling" had indeed been a simple case
of overwrought nerves. And yet…she sniffed the air. Something didn’t smell like
home…

"There is a hill in front of us
so we won't be able to see the house until we crest it," she explained.
Dafydd nodded in response and they urged their horses to a faster pace. The
short climb up the hill, which normally seemed to pass in a few seconds, seemed
interminably long tonight and Elena attributed it to her exhaustion and earlier
worries.

When they finally did reach the top
of the shallow hill, she smiled and prepared to sigh in relief. There just
ahead was the manor--or what should have been the manor. Instead lay a pile of
rubble, smoke still pouring from recently burnt beams, scorched timbers
cracking as they continued to tumble to the ground. The breath she had taken to
sigh was caught in her throat and her eyes widened until they ached.
"Father!" she screamed, except it came out as a cracked whisper. She
kicked her sturdy horse as hard as she could and set off down the hill.

"Lady Elena!" Dafydd called
out after her. "No!" He quickly caught up with her and grabbed the
reins from his hands. "This was no doubt the work of Richard's men and
they may still be about." He glanced quickly around and then urged his
mount into the small orchard just off the road, dragging the reins to Elena's
horse behind him. He quickly leapt off his horse and reached up to drag Elena
down. She fell off her horse and into his arms.