Spectre of the Sword (17 page)

“When did you know you
loved him?” Carys insisted. “I mean, was it soon after you met? Was it when you
were married? When?”

Elizabeau’s smile faded,
trying not to gaze dreamily at Rhys.  Now the conversation was beginning to
hurt. “It was probably shortly after we met,” she said with a slight shrug. “I
cannot remember exactly when or how. It just… happened.”

“But you did know.”

“Aye, I did know.”

Elizabeau averted her
gaze from the young girl, fighting off the sorrow that threatened.  But Carys
continued to hold her arm, enraptured with the romance between her brother and
his wife.

“I hope that I know,
too,” she sighed.  “Perhaps he will be a handsome lord or prince and take me
away to live with him in his castle.  Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Rhys could see that
Elizabeau did not wish to speak of it any longer.  He could see that she was
hurting, just as he was.  That which they had been trying to avoid all
afternoon was now more prevalent than ever.  He peeled his sister off of
Elizabeau.

“Go and find Dylan,” he
instructed. “You know where the man is located who sells candied pumpkin; he is
probably still there. I am going to retrieve the horses and will meet you by
the perfume merchant.”

Carys nodded.  “Can I
have a few more coins in case there is something more I want?”

Rhys growled and dug
into the purse attached to his belt, pulling forth two more coins. “You’re
going to get big and fat and no prince will want you.”

Carys just grinned. 
Plopping the coins into her open palm, he watched her dash off across the
avenue.  When he was sure his sister was out of earshot, he turned to
Elizabeau.

She was standing a few
feet away, gazing off into the crowded street.  He walked up, standing so close
to her that his body brushed against hers.

“She’s just a curious
young girl,” he murmured. “She does not mean any harm.”

“I know.” Elizabeau continued
to look off into the street.  She suddenly closed her eyes and turned into him,
throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. “I do not
think I can go through with this.  God’s Bones, I become ill at the mere
thought that what has come so easily to us can never be. ”

Against his better
judgment, he put his arms around her.  The action dangerously weakened the
resolve he had been attempting so desperately to reinforce.   The weaker his
resolve became, the more tightly he gripped her.

“I know well how you
feel,” he murmured into the top of her head. “But we have been through this.
You are my mission. That is all you can ever be.”

She began to sob,
gut-wrenching sighs that he felt clear through to his bones. “Not here, angel,”
he whispered, giving her a squeeze and trying to force her to walk with him. 
“Stop your tears.  You do not want Carys and Dylan to see you this way. They
will think I’ve been cruel to you.”

“You have,” she sobbed.

His eyebrows furrowed
gently.  “What have I done?”

She was pitiful. “You
have made me fall in love with you.” She suddenly yanked away from him and he
glimpsed the spitfire he had first come to know back at Hyde House.  “Do you
not realize how rare this is? People do not fall in love every day. It is a
gift, something precious to be grateful for.  And we are throwing it away.”

He watched her rage, the
charming little wrinkle of her nose when she spoke and the way her dark green
eyes flashed.  She was such an exquisite creature.  When she finished spouting
off and he was sure she wasn’t going to punch him, he pulled her back into his
massive embrace again.

“We are not throwing it
away,” he soothed her gently, one enormous hand on her head and the other on
her back. “What we have been given is a beautiful, unexpected treasure that we
simply cannot keep.  It does not make it any less valuable or revered. It makes
it something to be remembered always, a warm reflection that no one can ever
take away from us.”

Her arms went tightly
around him. “Rhys,” she murmured into his tunic. “Please… please let us go away
from here.  Let us go back to your father in France and live there. You can
serve him and we can be together and raise a family.  Why can we not do this?”

He put his hands on her
face, pulling her up to look at him.  His fingers dwarfed her skull.  “Because
too many people are depending on you,” he murmured, brushing his lips against
her forehead. “Your uncle is swiftly directing this country and her barons to
the brink of civil war.  So many people hate him that his opposition grows by
the day.  Your brother Arthur was our only hope for salvation.  Now that he is
gone, we must pin our hopes on you.  You know this, angel; this situation is
bigger than the both of us.”

Tears streamed from the
deep green eyes and onto his hands. “But I do not want this. I told you; I do
not think I am strong enough for this. I only know that I would rather be with
you than the queen of England. You are more important to me.”

“And you are more
important to me, as well. But England needs you more than I do.  I am just a
man; England is an entire country.”

“But I want to be with
you.”

“And I want to be with
you. But we cannot have what we want and to constantly rehash this will
continue to destroy whatever resolve that remains.”

She just stared at him. 
He wiped away the thin trail of tears as he watched her face, waiting for his
words to register and preparing himself for the appropriate response.  But she
simply swallowed.  After a moment, he watched as she steeled herself and gently
put her hands over his, removing them from her face.

“This is surely going to
kill me,” she said, her voice strangely cold. “By the end of this next week, I
will be dead inside.  Once you take me to Ogmore, whatever remains will be
useless.”

He gazed back at her,
his expression unnaturally soft.  “I understand well how you feel. Which is why
I will not be taking you to Ogmore.”

Her eyes widened.
“What?”

“My brother Rod is being
recalled from Bronllys.  ‘Tis he who will escort you.”

He knew that she would
not react well to the news. But he had no idea just how badly she would
respond.  She took a step back from him, her eyes widening to the point that he
thought they might burst from her skull. 

“No!” she shouted,
veering away from him when he attempted to reach out and grasp her. “No, I will
not hear of it! I will not allow this!”

Rhys found himself
dodging pedestrians as he tried to get a hold of her. She was bolting across
the avenue, shrieking.   When he finally managed to get hold of her, she slugged
his arm in an attempt to dislodge his hand. But his grip was like iron and he
cornered her against the wall of a merchant stall, his enormous arms creating a
vise from which she could never escape.  His embrace consumed her.

His lips were on her temple
as he spoke.  “Calm down, angel.  Just calm yourself. ‘Tis for the best; you
must trust me.”

She was trying to fight
him for all she was worth but he was simply too big and too powerful.   She
finally gave up and collapsed against him.  The tears returned.

“Please do not send me
with another,” she begged. “If I must go, then it must be with you or I cannot
go through with this.  Please, Rhys. Do not abandon me.”

He rocked her gently. He
was about to reply when something caught his attention.  A familiar face was on
the approach and Rhys’ first instinct was to release the lady.  But it would do
no good; he had already been spotted.

Christopher de Lohr was
watching him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

He could hear her
yelling, screeching something to de Lohr that he couldn’t quite make out.  As
Rhys stood with David and Lawrence in the great hall of Whitebook, he could
hear Elizabeau laying into de Lohr quite strongly.  He could only imagine what
she was screaming about.  

He stood near the
hearth, his massive arms folded across his chest and head lowered as he
listened to the distant yelling.  David sat at the table close to him while
Lawrence simply paced around, trying to make some sense out of the screaming
for himself. Rhys’ family was no where to be found; when he had returned from
Llandogo with de Lohr in tow, Rhett had made some excuse to the family and they
had all fled.  Rhys was glad; he didn’t want them to be privy to the chaos
unfolding.   He commended his decision to tell his uncle everything.

“She is a beautiful
woman,” David’s quiet voice interrupted his tumultuous thoughts. “’Tis not as
if we blame you.  But on a mission of this importance….”

Rhys put up a quelling
hand. “I am well aware of the mission,” he said. “I am also well aware of what
is at stake, of who she is, of who I am, and everything else that pertains to
this task.  I’m not an idiot, David.”

“Nay, you are not,”
Lawrence said from across the room. “But you have crossed the line.”

Rhys’ head snapped up,
the brilliant blue eyes blazing. “And how would you know that?” he snapped in
an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “How would you know anything of what has
transpired over the past several days?”

Lawrence put up his
hands to cool the big man. “I did not mean it as it sounded. I simply meant
that you crossed the line by feeling something for your ward.  You are a man,
Rhys; ‘tis natural to feel something for a beautiful woman. But you knew better
in this case. You knew she was out of your reach.”

Rhys jaw was ticking and
he turned back to the hearth; he knew that Lawrence and David were not judging
him. He had known them both a long time and they knew his character. But he
felt as if he had failed somehow.

“I know she is,” he
reached out, slapping a hand against the mantle as he gazed into the fire.
There was lethargy and anguish to his movements. “If anyone knows it, I
certainly do.”

“Then what in the hell
happened?” Lawrence asked, almost beseechingly.

Rhys could only shake
his head, like a man who was losing his mind. “Nothing has happened. Nothing at
all.”

They were so focused on
Rhys that they hadn’t realized the screaming upstairs had stopped.  Lawrence
opened his mouth to reply but Christopher suddenly entered the hall, his
sky-blue eyes riveted to Rhys.  He walked right up to the man and planted
himself next to him.

“Now I will hear your
side of this,” he said as calmly as he could. “The lady has told me her
version.  What have you to say about what I saw out there on the avenue?”

Rhys faced de Lohr; he
wasn’t as tall as his liege, but he was wider.  He did not fear the man nor did
he back down.  He reverted to the non-emotional, professional persona that they
had all come to associate with Rhys du Bois.  This was the perfect killing
machine, the man who was swayed by nothing and feared nothing.  It was still
difficult for any of them to believe what they had seen in Llandogo. 

“The lady was upset
about her impending future, my lord,” Rhys said honestly. “As you know, she
tends to become overly emotional. What you saw were my attempts to comfort
her.”

Christopher’s nostrils
flared, not a good sign.  David even stood up, moving closer to Rhys in case
his brother decided to physically demonstrate his frustration.  They all knew
that Christopher was angry; he had ever right to be.  Now was the time for
total truth from Rhys or the situation would go from bad to worse.

“You have never lied to
me and I do not expect you to start now,” Christopher said after a moment. “But
know this, du Bois; I had been watching you and the lady for several minutes
before you saw me.  I saw you embrace her quite intimately on a few occasions
and I clearly did not imagine the tender expressions that passed between you. I
believe there was even a kiss at some point. I will not permit you to tell me
that nothing has transpired between you and Lady Elizabeau.  You will tell me
the entire truth now.”

Rhys gazed steadily at
him.  After a moment, he took a long, heavy breath and lowered his gaze in
defeat. “The lady and I have professed our love to one another,” he said
quietly. “I only happened today and we are both quite clear on the fact that it
can go no further. We both understand her destiny and pledge to fulfill it. 
She is upset because she is my mission; that is all she can ever be.”

“You have not
compromised her in any way?”

“I swear on my life that
I have not.”

Christopher seemed to
calm somewhat.  He met looked at Rhys, studying the man, attempting to discern
if he was being totally truthful with him.  But he had known Rhys du Bois for
eight years and had never known him to be anything other than the perfect
knight.  But even men of perfection were allowed a weakness now and again.
After a moment, he emitted a blustery sigh and moved to the nearest bench.  He
lowered his bulk wearily.