Spectre of the Sword (12 page)

“Then let me make
something perfectly clear, Rhys du Bois,” she sounded very much as if she was
threatening him. “If you so much as touch me or handle me in a way that I deem
even remotely suggestive or improper, I swear to you that you will walk from
this place missing an eye, and I’ll tell de Lohr every horrible detail and hope
he punishes you greatly for it. Is that clear?”

Rhys shifted so her
stiff elbow wasn’t jabbing him in the gut and somehow in the process pulled her
tighter.  “Perfectly, my lady.”

“Good.” Satisfied he
wouldn’t try something improper, she allowed herself to relax within his
enormous embrace. “Now, I am a light sleeper, so do not move around too much.
It will keep me awake all night.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“And do not snore.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Rhys?”

“My lady?”

“Good night.”

He was staring into the
back of her golden red head, smelling the soft scent of lilac and struggling to
ignore it. “Good night, Lady Elizabeau.”

It was the best night’s
sleep either one of them had ever had.

CHAPTER SIX

It was an oddly sunny
morning for November, Elizabeau thought as she strolled through the courtyard
of Whitebrook.  The sun had been up for some time, evidenced by its position in
the sky, and the landscape was lush from the recent heavy rains.   All in all,
it was a beautiful day and a beautiful land, much different from the filth of
London that she had known most of her life.

She had awoken alone in
the small bed that she and Rhys had occupied.  A fire burned brightly in the hearth
and a platter of cold bread and cheese sat on the table near the bed.  Someone
had put it there for her and she suspected it was Rhys, but he was no where to
be found so she had eaten all of the food and dressed in  the pale green
broadcloth that was magnificent with her coloring.  The leather girdled had
cinched up the surcoat, emphasizing her long torso and slender waist, and she
had used a few of the pins to secure her considerable mane at the nape of her
neck.  Some of the red lip ointment from the tiny alabaster pot went onto her
full lips and she dared to use some of the perfumed oil that Rhys had bought
her.  One smelled like lilac, the other smelled of tuberose.  She chose the
lilac.

During the entire time
when she had eaten and dressed, no one had come to her door.  She had been
quite alone.  Dressed and fed, she decided to go and find Rhys.  She was coming
to feel a little lost without him around, his massive presence something she
had grown accustomed to over the past several days.  She would not admit she
had become attached to him, too, as a protector and companion.  Anything more
than that she would once again refuse to entertain.  But the fact that he had
insisted on sleeping next to her last night was making that increasingly
difficult.

So she found herself in
the weak November sunshine, gazing up into the clear sky and inspecting her
surroundings.  She could hear dogs barking and chickens clucking somewhere. 
Just as she rounded the northwest corner of the manor, young Dylan nearly ran her
down.

The lad was chagrinned
as she stumbled back, out of his way.  His big, dark eyes were wide at her.

“F—forgive me, my lady,”
he squeaked; his voice was verging on manhood with that funny squawk to it that
young men had when going through the change into maturity. “I did not mean to
startle you.”

She smiled at the boy.
“You did not overly,” she said. “But you must be in a great hurry this
morning.”

He nodded, his
nearly-black hair shaggy. “Carys is feeding the fowl, but the geese have come
early this year and they are gobbling up everything.” He indicated the barn
back to the south side of the manor. “I was going to the stores to get more or
else the geese might pick the flesh from her bones.”

Shielding her eyes from
the sun, Elizabeau looked over her shoulder at the barn. “I see,” she said.
“Best of luck to you, then.”

“Thank you,” he bobbed
his head and started to dash off again, but suddenly stumbled to a halt.
“Would… would you like to come? Carys was asking for you this morn but mother
said that you were still sleeping.”

Elizabeau shrugged,
smiled, and followed him.  “I was,” she said as they crossed back across the
ward.  She eyed the lad a moment. “You would not happen to know where Rhys has
gone, would you?”

He nodded. “He took
Maddoc to visit the place where Gwyneth is buried.”

“Gwyneth?”

“Maddoc’s mother.”

“Oh,” Elizabeau looked
more closely at the youth as they neared the barn. “And where is that?”

“St. Briavel’s,” he
said, jabbing a finger in an easterly direction. “Not far.  That is where Rhys’
castle is, you know.”

As his wife, Elizabeau
realized she probably should have known that so she pretended that she did.
“I’ve not seen it yet,” she thought she played well to his statement. “I
suppose you have, many times.”

They entered the cool,
dim barn.  Pigeons roosted in the rafters, cooing gently.  “A few,” Dylan
shrugged. “Gwyneth did not like us there.”

“Why not?”

Dylan shrugged. “She
never seemed to like Carys or me.  We did not go there often.”

They had reached the
massive sacks of grain, neatly stacked against the old barn wall. Dust and bits
of straw floated through the air, passing through streams of sunlight that
filtered in through the wide, uneven wall slats.  Elizabeau watched the boy
struggle with a large sack, still mulling over his last statement.  Although
she knew it was none of her affair, she could not help but be curious.

“Perhaps she simply did
not like the company,” she said, probing him even though she tried to tell
herself that she was doing no such thing. “Some people are like that, you know.
They prefer to be alone.”

Dylan tried to lift the
sack but gave up and started dragging it. “She just did not like us,” he said
flatly, grunting as he lugged the grain. “Her father was a FitzPeter, constable
for the earl of Monmouth and constable of St. Briavel’s.  Her mother was the
earl’s daughter.  Gwyneth was born in the castle and when she married Rhys, it
was part of her dowry.” He suddenly stopped lugging and looked up at her. “But
you already know that, right? I talk too much.”

Elizabeau shook her
head. “Your brother and I were only… married recently and we’ve not had the
time to learn everything about one another. I did not know that his first wife
was a granddaughter of Monmouth.”

Dylan went back to
yanking on the sack, having no idea he was blathering information he probably
should have kept to himself. “She was rich but she was mean,” he gave one big
pull and almost tripped over his feet. “Mother didn’t like her but Father said
she was wealthy and that Rhys needed to marry her, so he did.  Everybody knows
that Rhys’ father is the Duke of Navarre.  Gwyneth and her father only wanted
ties to the duke, but they didn’t get that at all.  When they found out that
the duke didn’t provide inheritance for Rhys, they got furious. They hated him
and they hated us. That’s why we weren’t allowed in the castle.”

Elizabeau stared at him
in shock as the hint of a tragic story began to unfold. “But what about the
baby?”

“Maddoc?” Dylan was
beginning to sweat with exertion as he pulled the sack out of the barn. 
Elizabeau followed. “They weren’t even married a year before Maddoc came.  I
heard Mother tell Father than Gwyneth wished the baby would die when she was
giving birth to him. She cursed Rhys and she cursed Maddoc.  And then she died
instead. Mother said it was God’s punishment because she was so wicked.”

Elizabeau’s shock
deepened.  So did her sense of pity for the massive, silent man with the
unhappy past.  “But still he goes to visit her grave?”

Dylan shrugged. “Mother
says that Rhys is a saint. She doesn’t know why he goes, either, but I heard
Rhys tell her once that the woman was still Maddoc’s mother no matter what. I
guess he doesn’t want Maddoc to grow up hating her even though she hated him.”

Elizabeau’s sorrow
overwhelmed her sense of shock; never would she have imagined such a tale.  But
it explained a good deal of why Rhys had been so cold when they had initially
met.  She had thought once that the man had a wall around him; now she could
see that she had been correct. He had ever reason to have wall of protection
around him.  But she also realized that the past few days had seen that wall
topple slightly.   He had warmed to her to the point where they could banter
somewhat.  She began to feel horrible for the way she had treated him in the
beginning, her maliciousness and aggressive behavior. It seemed that Rhys had
been exposed to his share of women who behaved that way towards him.

Dylan was still dragging
the sack across the courtyard. Lost to her own thoughts, it suddenly occurred
to Elizabeau that she should probably help the boy. Bending down, she took the
end of the sack and lifted. It was heavy, but manageable.

Dylan looked surprised
that she would take the initiative to help but she encouraged him onward. “Keep
walking,” she commanded gently. “If we don’t hurry, your sister’s fate will be
sealed in a mass of goose feathers and beaks.”

Dylan grinned, walking
backwards while carrying the sack. “Aw, she can fight like a boy. She’ll not go
down without a struggle.”

“And how would you know
this?”

“Because she beats on me
all of the time.”

“Clearly, you must
deserve it.”

Dylan looked at her with
surprise but she was laughing at him.  His cheeks flushed violently and he
grinned as they turned the corner of the manse and began heading towards the
rear kitchen yard.  They could hear chickens cackling and geese squawking as
they drew close. True to Dylan’s word, Carys was surrounded by demanding
fowl.   Elizabeau and Dylan set the sack down and Dylan ripped open the top.

“Here!” he began
throwing out grain. “Come and get it!”

The throng of birds
shifted their attention from Carys to Dylan in an instant and, suddenly,
Elizabeau found herself surrounded by pushy geese.  Truth was, she’d never been
exposed to them before.  Living a relatively sheltered life in London, her
mother hadn’t kept farm animals at their townhome.  When the birds began
nipping at her surcoat, she panicked and climbed up on top of the stone wall.

Dylan and Carys
alternately fed the birds and tried to coax her down, but no amount of pleading
could coerce her to climb back into the writhing mass of ravenous fowl. Even
when they led the throng away from the wall, Elizabeau remained on top of it as
if terrified the birds would suddenly rush back at her again.  In fact, the entire
yard was populated with animals and she was very intimidated by them. Just when
she summoned the courage to climb from the wall, a white Billy goat boldly
hustled up to her and began nipping at her hands.  It was enough to send her
scurrying back up the wall.

And there she stayed
until Rhys returned. A very panicked Dylan had been waiting for his brother in
the courtyard and, upon spilling his tale, took Maddoc from his brother while
Rhys went around the back of the manse.   But Rhys had to make sure his grin
was gone by the time he reached the yard or he was sure there would be hell to
pay.

Elizabeau was sitting on
top of the five-foot stone wall that sectioned off the kitchen yard from the
north side of the manse. She was perched with her knees drawn up, her arms
wrapped around them. She seemed to be watching the activity in the yard
intently, giving him time to gaze at her a moment.  Rhys paused, watching her
fine features in the morning light; he realized he was glad to see her. There
was something about the sight of her that lightened his heart. Furthermore, he
was very amused by her behavior.  He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t
seen it with his own eyes.

“What, may I ask,” he
moved towards her with his hands on his hips,” are you doing up there?”

She jumped at the sound
of his voice, the deep green eyes finding him as he stalked her. “I… I was….”

He came to rest next to
the wall. “You were…
what
?”

Her cheeks flushed and
she struggled for an explanation that didn’t sound too humiliating. “I… I was
just watching the geese. And the goats. And that sheep over there with the very
big horns.”

“And?”

He had the most annoying
twinkle in his eye, giving Elizabeau a hint that he might know exactly why she
was seated on the wall.  She let out a blustery grunt.

“Oh, very well,” she
snapped without force. “They were trying to eat me, so I climbed up here.”

Rhys was struggling very
hard not to smile. “They do not eat meat, not even your tender white flesh. 
Now come down from there.”

She shook her head. “The
moment I do, they will run over here and bite me.”

He lifted a black
eyebrow. “My lady, I swear that they will not,” he held out a hand to her.
“They’re just birds and a few other beasts. They do not care about you in the
least.”