Spectre of the Sword (14 page)

Her head snapped up, the
deep green eyes suddenly angry. “Romance, is it?” she struggled to push herself
off of his lap. “How dare you suggest that what I expressed to you is fleeting
or shallow. I am not an idiot, du Bois. I would not have made such statements
without knowing full well the implications.”

He would not let her go,
instead, pulling her back down against him. “I did not mean to suggest that you
were an idiot,” he soothed her. “But it would be easy to think yourself in love
with me when all you really felt was a sense of admiration or misplaced
loyalty.”

She yanked herself out
of his arms and an open-palm came flying at him. He grabbed her, and the hand
that meant to slap him, before either reached their goal. He had a good grip on
her as they faced off, brilliant blue against deep, furious green.

“You said you felt the
same way,” she spat. “Are you saying that you only feel a sense of admiration
or misplaced loyalty?”

He pursed his lips. “Not
at all. I know clearly what I am feeling. But I am also a good deal older and
wiser than you are.”

“You’re not that much
older!”

“I have seen thirty
years. You are only eighteen.”

“How do you know that?”

“De Lohr.…”

“…
told me
,” she
finished sarcastically.

He stared at her. Then,
his grin made a weak return. “I will tell you this one time and then say no
more about it,” he said quietly. “Were it within my power, Elizabeau
Treveighan, I would marry you this day and we would live in happiness for the
rest of our lives. But it is not within my power, nor is it within yours, so to
dwell on such things is a waste of effort for the both of us. You have a great destiny
to fulfill and it is my duty to see that you survive long enough to fulfill
it.  The greater good of England is dependent upon it and we will not
disappoint.  We are made of stronger things than that.”

She had calmed by this
point, her great green eyes studying him intently. “I do not want to be made of
stronger things.”

“I know. But you are
nonetheless.”

“Will you answer me one
question, then?”

“Anything.”

“Do you love me?”

“I would suspect so.”

There had been no
hesitation in his answer and it shocked her. Her tears returned; he could see
them welling up and spilling over again.   He wiped the tears away gently as
she struggled with her composure.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Then let me hear it
once from your lips and I will never ask again.”

“I love you, Elizabeau.”

She ran a finger down
his cheek and across his full lips, studying the handsome lines of his face. It
would probably be her one and only time to do so, and she did not take it
lightly. “I love you, too,” she whispered.  “I do not know why, or how this has
happened, but it has and I am both devastated and ecstatic.”

He closed his eyes
tightly, briefly, before refocusing on her. “You have a destiny to fulfill,” he
whispered huskily. “You will remember that. We must both remember that.”

He tried to get up but
she wouldn’t let him.  Her arms were winding their way around his neck, her
face looming close to his. Rhys heart began thumping against his ribs, knowing
what was about to happen but too weak to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it.

“Then kiss me so that I
will have something to remember of you, something no one can ever take away
from me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.  His
lips descended on hers, gently at first, but with increasing ardor. It was the
most natural of kisses, one that he had been waiting all of his life to
experience.  He could taste her sweetness and it made him want for more as his
tongue tenderly licked at her before prying her lips open and invading the
delicate folds of her mouth.  Her tongue was a delicious morsel to suck upon
and he did so hungrily, feasting upon her flesh as he had never feasted
before.  The more he tasted, the more he wanted. 

She was back down on the
grass, still in his arms, still being ravaged by his mouth. Every suckle, every
lick, held unimaginable tenderness and power. Elizabeau could do nothing more
than submit; Rhys had control and he used that control to make her feel more
deliriously happy than she ever thought possible.  She memorized the taste of
him, the feel of his lips against hers, knowing the memory would have to
sustain her for a lifetime.  She suddenly couldn’t bear to part with him.  She
wanted to know this joy, this passion, for always. Even when he tried to pull
up, she refused to let him go.

He kissed her until her
lips were swollen and raw. Neither one of them had any concept of time because
the passion they felt negated any sense of the moments passing. Rhys knew, as
every delicious second ticked away, that he was digging himself deeper and
deeper into something that would be horrifically difficult to pull out of. But
the more he tasted her, the more he touched her, the more he didn’t care.  She
consumed him.

A dog barked somewhere
close by and he was startled out of his passion. His head came up, the
brilliant blue eyes scanning the landscape for both the dog and the reason for
his bark.  But he saw nothing.  Still, it was enough of a pause for him to pull
together what remained of his senses.  He looked back down at Elizabeau, her
luscious hair spread against the damp grass.  She gazed up at him with those
miraculous green eyes and he felt himself weaken again. 

It took a great deal of
strength to resist the pull.  He pushed himself up onto his knees again and
lifted her up next to him. 

“Let’s go back into the
house,” he said quietly. “Before they come looking for us.  Dylan is as curious
as a cat and is probably already stalking around looking for me. I should not
like them to find us lying in the grass in a less than appropriate position.”

She regained her feet
with his help, brushing off her surcoat of the grass and moisture. “What does
it matter how they discover us? We’re married, are we not?”

He lifted a dark eyebrow
at her. “Be that as it may, I still do not want them to find us kissing
passionately in the grass.  It would be enough for my mother to expect a
grandchild in exactly nine months, not to mention the fact that I would spend
hours explaining such things to Carys and Dylan.   At their age, everything
inflames them.”

Elizabeau smiled at him
as he helped her from the wet grass. “I know I should be concerned, but I am
not. I only care about my feelings for you.”

He sighed quietly,
taking her cold hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “And I should
probably apologize for my lapse in self-control but it would do no good. I am
not sorry in the least.”

She could feel his
melancholy as it mingled with her own, now that the haze of their passion was
wearing off.  “I feel as if I have lived my entire life for that one moment,”
she murmured. “Now that it is gone, I do not know what I shall do.”

“You will marry your
prince and rule England.”

She was silent a moment,
struggling with the return of her tears. “Rhys.…”

“No,” he said shortly,
with quiet firmness. “I would suggest you stop wishing for what can never be. We
both must.”

“But.…”

“No.”

“Stop telling me that,”
she hissed at him, blinking rapidly to chase off her tears. “You do not even
know what I am going to say.”

“What are you going to
say?”

“That… that at least for
the next few days, can we simply forget that I have a destiny and you have a
mission?”

He stopped abruptly and
faced her.  His massive hands gripped her arms as he forced her to look at him.

“No,” he said, more
strongly. “Believe me when I say that it gives me no pleasure to tell you that,
but it is necessary. You must trust me, angel.  To allow ourselves even a
moment more of this heaven will only do us greater harm in the end.  It will
shatter you and devastate me. It will be hard enough watching you wed another
without the added burden of pretending, even for a short while, that things
between us are different. Do you understand that?”

Elizabeau gazed at him
steadily, knowing he was correct but hating with every fiber of her being to
admit it.  She finally closed her eyes and lowered her head.

 “Aye,” she whispered.
“I understand. But the pain of that understanding is surely going to kill me.”

He felt the same as she
did but refrained from telling her; it would only make her feel worse.  When
she lowered her head, he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms to comfort
her.  Instead, he took her hand again and resumed their walk.

“Then let us speak of
other things,” he said, though his heart wasn’t in it. “You have not told me
what kind of garments you would like for me to buy for you when I go into
town.”

She was silent a moment,
daintily wiping at the tears in her eyes and watching the ground beneath her
feet.  “So your mother expects a grandchild right away, does she?” she teased
gently.

He looked at her, seeing
a weak smile playing on her lips. He just shook his head, fighting off a grin
and not entirely surprised that she wasn’t willing to let the subject of their
relationship go so easily.  But at least she wasn’t weeping any longer.

 “It will be a huge
disappointment to her when I am forced to tell her that you and I are not
really married,” he admitted.

“It is a great
disappointment to me, too.”

“Elizabeau….”

She waved him off,
knowing what was going to say. “I know, I know,” she took a deep breath and
struggled to focus on something other than her breaking heart. “Your mother
seems like a kind woman. She was very gracious and attentive to me last night. 
I do believe she has cured my cold single-handedly.”

“She seems to like you a
great deal,” Rhys said softly.

She looked up at him,
surprised. “She does? I’ve not truly spent any time speaking with her. How
could she know?”

“She just knows.  You
have a good character about you.”

Elizabeau gazed up at
him as they finished the remainder of their walk back to the manse.  He glanced
down at her now and again, seeing an expression on her face that made his
entire body go weak.  He didn’t want to give in to it, but it was difficult. 
He was trying to return to business as usual with her; he was her escort and
she was his ward.  But he knew, as he lived and breathed, that things would be
different from this moment on.  Every time he looked at her, his heart would be
doomed.

As they reached the
front door of the manse, the panel suddenly opened and a short, dark-haired
bear of a man walked out.  He looked at Rhys with surprise, his round, ruddy
face creased with a smile. 

“Rhys,” he said, his
gaze moving between Rhys and Elizabeau. “Good to see you, lad.  Your mother
said you were home.”

Rhys smiled and held out
a hand, which the man took and shook heartily. “We arrived yesterday,” he
released the man’s hand and indicated Elizabeau.  “Renard, this is my wife, the
Lady Julianna.  My lady, this is my mother’s husband, Sir Renard de Titouan.”

Elizabeau dipped in a
slight curtsy. “My lord,” she greeted pleasantly.

Renard focused on her
intently; he had come from the house wiping his hands off with some kind of rag
and he stood there and inspected her, still wiping his hands off.   After a
moment, he smiled broadly.

“My God, she’s
beautiful, Rhys,” he said with approval. “How did you come by such good
fortune?”

Rhys cast Elizabeau a
long glance, wriggling his eyebrows as he did. “I do not know,” he said
quietly. “I must have done something particularly good in my life to warrant
such a reward.”

Renard’s smile faded.
“Nay, lad,” he stopped wiping his hands and looked at the man he has raised as
his own son. “God is rewarding you for putting up with the first bitch you
married. He has a good deal to make up to you.”

Rhys’ expression morphed
to stone as Renard headed in the direction of the barn, oblivious to the fact
that he had upset Rhys with his careless words. Renard had never been one for
much tact.

“Your mother had me
running all over the Wye Valley looking for the best price for our autumn
harvest of vegetables,” Renard said as he walked, assuming Rhys and Elizabeau
were following. “That is why I was not here to greet you yesterday. And you’ll
be surprised to know that Rhett went with me. I was actually able to convince
the man to leave the house.”

Rhys and Elizabeau were
still standing by the open manse door. Elizabeau leaned into Rhys.

“Who is Rhett?” she
whispered.

“My crippled uncle,” he
responded softly, then raised his voice to his mother’s husband, who was
several feet away by now. “Where is Uncle Rhett?”

“Inside, slapping his
cane at Dylan.”

Rhys lifted an eyebrow,
taking Elizabeau by the elbow once again. “Then I had better go and save him,”
he muttered.