Spectre of the Sword (10 page)

“Tell me about your
family,” she asked, her words muffled by her kerchief.

Rhys held the charger
tight as a dove suddenly shot into the sky a few feet in front of the beast.  
“Not much to tell, really,” he said. “My mother married her husband shortly
before I was born and my brother Rod was born two years later.  My sister Carys
followed ten years later, followed two years later by my brother, Dylan.   He
is the youngest. Oh, and my uncle lives at Whitebrook also, brother to the
Steward of Bronllys.  He was a great knight back in his day, but age and disease
have rendered him almost invalid.”

“Do you get on with your
mother’s husband?”

His brilliant blue gaze
trailed over the vibrant green landscape. “Aye,” he replied.  “He was a knight
who had served my father. When my mother became pregnant, the duchess
threatened to kill her and my father ordered his knight to return her to
Wales.  During the journey, they fell in love and were married.  When they
reached Wales, the knight never returned to France. He’s stayed here, with my
mother, and they have had a good life together.”

She sat up, looking at
him with her red-rimmed eyes and red-tipped nose. “What a remarkable story,”
she said softly. “It would take a very strong man to overlook the indiscretions
of a woman carrying another man’s child.  Did he raise you as his own, then?”

Rhys nodded. “He’s never
treated me any differently than my brothers.”

“Did you always know he
was not your father?”

“Ever since I was old
enough to understand.”

“What do you call him,
then?”

“By his name; Renard.”

“And your mother’s
name?”

“Orlaith.” He paused a
moment. “And it was not her indiscretions that Renard overlooked.  The Duke
forced himself upon her and she had no choice.”

It was a slight rebuke
but she was not offended; he was simply clearing the situation so she would not
look upon his mother as a used mistress, or worse.  Elizabeau sniffled again
into her kerchief, slouching back against him once more as her attention
focused on the approaching gray-stoned structure. She felt his arm tighten
around her and she struggled to ignore the warm feeling it provoked, warm
feelings she had been fighting against for the past several days.  They were
inappropriate and unreasonable as she reminded herself, but as she became angry
and miserable the more, and stronger, they persisted.    

“You have much more of a
family than I have,” she said quietly, distracting herself. “At least you have
brothers and sisters and uncles to depend on. I only have my mother.  We are
the last of a dying house, my mother and I.”

Rhys glanced down at the
top of her golden-red head. “A noble house, however. The House of Treveighan is
one of the oldest in Cornwall. Your lineage goes back to the days of Arthur, so
I’m told.”

She sat up, grinning at
him. “How would you know that?”

He met her gaze, the
corners of his mouth twitching. “De Lohr told me.”

“And how would he know?”

“He knows everything.”

She smirked at him,
suddenly sneezing into her hand but losing none of her mirth. “My mother’s
husband died before I was born, you know. She was considered a very wealthy and
prestigious widow until Geoffrey of Brittany saw her in London and had his way
with her. Then she became pregnant with me and all of her decent marriage
prospects fled.  Who would want to marry a woman who carries a royal bastard?”
She eyed him. “Unless your name is Renard, of course.”

He laughed softly,
displaying his big white teeth. His smile was so bright that Elizabeau swore it
glowed. She had only come to see his full-on smile a day ago, when she had
commented on something he found humorous. She had been entranced by the deep
chuckled and straight teeth; his face changed radically when he smiled. Now she
seemed to have made it her subconscious mission to make him show his teeth
often.  She liked the feel of her quivering heart when he did so.

“Renard is a unique
man,” he agreed. “He is quiet, not particularly bright, but a good man
nonetheless. And he loves my mother, a rare thing in this day.”

Her gaze lingered on him
a moment before refocusing her attention on the looming manor house.  It was
big, shaped like a ‘U’, with a protected courtyard.  But as they came upon it,
Elizabeau noticed that there was much more to it than that; she could see stone
walls covered with moss that penned chickens, horses, a few cows, goats, geese
and various other animals. On the opposite side of the dirt road were what
seemed miles of gardens with all manner of vines, vegetables and other growing
plants. The carefully planted rows upon rows of growth and as they drew near to
the manor, dogs rushed out and started barking. The charger snapped its jaws
but the dogs were unafraid.  Rhys whistled at them between his teeth and they
seemed to run off towards the manor again, barking as dogs do.

Suddenly, the heavy oak
door of the manor creaked open and a tall, pale girl with bright red hair stood
in the doorway.  She took a few steps, shielding her eyes from the sun, as Rhys
and Elizabeau drew closer.  Then, recognition dawned; the girl dropped her hand
from her eyes and shrieked so loud that the destrier started.

“Rhys!” she squealed. 
“You’re home, you’re home!”

Elizabeau couldn’t help
but smile at the young girl as she rushed the horse, jumping up and down.  Rhys
reined the charger to a halt and gently lowered Elizabeau to the ground before
dismounting himself. The flame-haired girl threw herself into his massive arms.

“It’s been so long!” the
girl gushed, pushing herself out of his enormous embrace. “Let me look at you;
you’re as big as an ox! Did you bring me any presents?”

Rhys lifted an eyebrow
at her. “The first words out of your mouth are of greed and selfishness.” He
kissed her on her pale cheek. “You grow lovelier by the day, Carys. So how many
suitors have you had since I’ve been away, eh? How many young men will I have
to chase off?”

Carys de Titouan blushed
furiously. “I’ve not had
that
many.” Her gaze inevitably moved to
Elizabeau, standing in polite silence a few feet away, and her face lit up with
a smile. “A wife! You’ve finally married again!” She threw her arms around her
brother’s neck before he could reply. “Oh, Rhys, I’m so happy for you! You
swore you never would again but I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it!”

Elizabeau’s expression
went slack as she looked to Rhys beseechingly.  Rhys gazed back, helplessly, as
his sister squeezed the life out of his neck before releasing him and running
towards the house screaming.  As they watched her run, Elizabeau made her way
over to him.

“Rhys, stop her,” she
whispered.

He opened his mouth but
caught himself.  His sister’s assumption gave him an idea; in fact, he should
have known it all along.

“Perhaps it is better
this way,” he said quietly, listening to the manor come alive with more voices
and doors banging.  “We have, after all, been pretending we are married for the
majority of this trip.”

Elizabeau’s eyebrows lifted.
“What are you saying?”

He held up a hand before
she could gain a head of steam. “You’re supposed to be hiding,” he said
thoughtfully as he turned to face her. “Understand that my sister cannot keep a
secret to save her life.  I’ve been attempting for the better part of eight
days to figure out a way around her finding out who you are.  She’ll spread it
no matter how much we tell her not to.”

Elizabeau’s eyebrows
rose. “And you are just telling me this now? ‘Tis a fine time to mention it,
now when it’s too late.”

Rhys shook his head, his
brilliant blue eyes fixed on her. “It is not too late. My sister has
unknowingly provided the answer to the dilemma.” He took a step or two towards
her just as a more people began to pour from the door of the manor. “Would it
be too much of an imposition to continue that pretext that you are my wife
until we leave for Ogmore?  We did it for the merchant. Now we must continue it
for my family’s sake.”

Elizabeau didn’t know
what to say.  She stammered over an answer as Carys crossed the yard with a
woman, young boy, and very small child in tow.   She eyed the approaching
group, still struggling, when Rhys reached out and grasped her by the chin
gently.

“What is your mother’s
name?” he whispered, his blue eyes glimmering.

Her eyes flickered with
confusion but she answered. “Julianna,” she replied softly. “The Lady Julianna
de Mawgan Treveighan.”

He didn’t have time to
answer; the horde was upon him and a short woman with very dark hair and a
lovely face was suddenly embracing him.   Elizabeau watched as the woman kissed
his stubbled cheeks over and over.

“Rhys,” the woman
declared when she finally stopped kissing him. “My beautiful boy, you look
marvelous.”

Rhys smiled down at the
woman to whom he bore a striking resemblance. “’Tis good to see you, Mother,”
he looked at the boy standing next to her, a lad of eleven or twelve years with
dark hair and dark eyes. “Dylan, you scamp. I see you’ve been growing behind my
back.”

Dylan de Titouan smiled
broadly at his older, substantially larger brother. When Rhys ruffled his dark
hair, the boy batted at him and Rhys gave him a good natured shove that nearly
sent him to the ground. But that was as far as the horseplay went for the
moment; standing slightly behind his mother, holding Carys’ hand, was a toddler
of no more than four years of age. Rhys crouched his enormous bulk in front of
the child but made no attempt to touch him.

“Greetings, Maddoc,” he
said gently, his brilliant blue eyes soft. “Do you remember me?”

The boy looked up at
Rhys’ mother, who nodded her head encouragingly. Then he looked back at Rhys.
“Aye, Daddy.”

Rhys held out his arms,
allowing the boy to choose whether or not to come to him.  He was, after all, a
virtual stranger to the child; he’d seen him a total of six times during his
short life.  After several long seconds, the child fell into his father’s
embrace.  Rhys stood up, holding his son gently against him.

“He’s grown a mile,”
Rhys said with tenderness in his voice that Elizabeau had never heard before.
“He’ll be a fine knight in no time.”

Orlaith de Titouan
scowled at her eldest. “You’ll not hurry this one into combat.  He’s still a
baby and will remain so for quite some time.”

Rhys grinned as Maddoc
stopped hugging his father long enough to begin playing with his helm. Rhys
pulled it off, offered it to him to play with, and set the boy back to his feet
as the child struggled under the weight of the helm. When Uncle Dylan tried to
help him, the child screamed and pulled his new toy out of his uncle’s reach. 
Rhys drank in the sight of his son a moment before turning to Elizabeau. 

His mother, sister and
brother were already focused on the mysterious young woman. Rhys held out a
hand to her and Elizabeau realized she would now be the center of their
attention. With a bit of trepidation, she took his hand and allowed him to pull
her close to him.

“Mother,” he had
Elizabeau firmly in his grasp, sensing her reluctance. “This is my wife, the
Lady Julianna.  My lady, this is my mother Orlaith, my sister Carys, my brother
Dylan, and my son Maddoc.”

Orlaith stepped forward,
her brilliant blue eyes glittering and kind upon Elizabeau. The family
resemblance was obvious. “Welcome, Julianna,” she said. “We are most happy to
make your acquaintance.”

Elizabeau smiled weakly,
feeling strange and apprehensive about the deception. “You are very kind, my
lady. Thank you.”

She suddenly sneezed
into her ever-ready kerchief and Orlaith looked stricken. “Rhys!” she said
accusingly. “Your wife is ill.  Why did you not bring her inside the very
moment you arrived? What manner of careless husband are you?”

Rhys opened his mouth to
reply but his mother was already yanking Elizabeau out of his grasp and
hustling her towards the manor. Carys skipped after them while Dylan tried to
convince Maddoc to come with him. Rhys sighed, watching his mother haul
Elizabeau away and knowing he was going to catch an earful for the woman’s
illness. But he’d already known that.  He turned to his brother, still trying
to coax the toddler.

“Dylan, take my horse,”
he instructed the lad. “I’ll take my son.”

Dylan thought that
handling a charger was the easier job of the two and gladly took to the
destrier. Rhys swooped down on the baby, still struggling to hold the helm.

“Come along, lad,” he
kissed the boy on the cheek as they headed towards the manse. “Let us go and
reacquaint ourselves with one another.”

Maddoc screamed the
entire way back into the house.

***

The water in the massive
copper tub was so hot that it was nearly scalding, but Orlaith was convinced
the only way to deal with the illness was to boil it out.  As Elizabeau sat in
a steaming tub that was scented with mint and other strange scents, she
realized that she did feel much better than she had earlier.