Spectre of the Sword (18 page)

“That is what the lady
told me, more or less,” he removed his gauntlets and scratched at his forehead.
“However, she took it one step further; she told me that she cannot go through
with this marriage. As of now, she refuses to go to Ogmore and marry her
prince.  I cannot force her. This, unfortunately, creates a bit of a
situation.  If she truly refuses, then our resistance against King John is at
an end. England will be resigned to her fate and there isn’t a damn thing we
can do about it.  Our quest for a better king and country is over.”

Rhys stared at him for
several long moments, knowing that this was his fault. “I have failed you, my
lord,” he said quietly. “I took this mission with the utmost intention of
performing flawlessly. Even now, I will complete it to the best of my abilities.
If you want the lady to marry her prince, then let me talk to her.  She will
listen to me.”

De Lohr looked at him.
“Rhys, she’s in love with you,” he said with more gentleness in his tone. “If
anyone understands that, I do.  I fell in love with a spitfire of a woman who
has become my all for living.  If I could not be with her, I would wither away
and die. So, you see, I understand this situation all too well and perhaps that
is why I am so frustrated.  One cannot adequately fight a matter of the heart.”

Rhys felt strangely akin
to de Lohr at the moment; finding a man who had known true love was rare. And
he knew his frustration well; he had been feeling a good deal of it himself.
But it didn’t change things.

“If you were facing this
situation, my lord, what would you do?” he asked.

Christopher lifted an
eyebrow. Then, he snorted. “Do you want an honest answer?”

Rhys nodded. “Put
yourself in my position. If it was Lady Dustin destined to marry a prince and
you were forced to escort her to this marriage that would change the course of
a country, what would you do?”

Christopher was silent a
moment, his sky-blue eyes staring off into the hearth as he lost himself in
thought.  He though of his petite wife with an enormous mane of golden hair and
eyes the color of storm clouds.  “Complete my mission,” he said slowly. “And be
miserable the rest of my life.”

“That is what I intend
to do as well.”

De Lohr wiped a weary
hand over his face, looking up at Rhys as he did so.  There was something of
doubt, anger and sorrow in his expression. “Of all my men, I would have never
expected this to happen to you,” he said after a moment. “You are my rock, du
Bois. But even rocks can crack.  You did not fail me, lad.  But you did
surprise me.”

“I surprised myself, my
lord.”

Over to their left,
David snorted ironically. Even Lawrence smirked.  Christopher glanced at his
brother, his knight, before refocusing on Rhys.  The mood of the room, now that
understanding had settled, grew less heady.

“Do you really love her,
Rhys? Or is she just an infatuation? I refuse to believe you’re simply making
sport of her.”

“I love her with all my
heart, my lord.”

De Lohr grunted,
wriggling his eyebrows at his brother as he did so.  His movements seemed more
apologetic now that things were clear. “She is due at Ogmore in a few days,” he
said. “Perhaps you should go and talk to her.  If you can still complete this
mission, then you deserve all of my faith and support. It is a terrible thing
to say all things considered, but it all rests on you.”

Rhys didn’t say another
word.  He left Christopher, David and Lawrence in the great hall and mounted
the stairs to the second floor.  Elizabeau’s chamber was at the end of the hall
and he knocked softly.  He had to do it twice more before the door finally
creaked open.

Elizabeau peered up at
him with red-rimmed eyes.  She had a guarded expression and seemed to be
disinterested in his presence, but after several long seconds of remaining
firm, she dissolved into tears.  Rhys entered the room and quietly shut the
door behind him.

“Calm yourself,” he said
softly, taking her by the shoulders and leading her over to the bed. “Sit down.
We have much to speak of.”

She sobbed into her hand
as he gently pushed her to sit.  He went looking for a chair but she stopped
him.

“S-sit with me,” she
sobbed softly. “Put your arms around me and tell me that everything will be all
right.”

He stared at her, his
heart breaking, before forcing himself to go in search of a chair. It was the
most difficult thing he’d ever had to do.  He planted the chair in front of the
bed and sat stiffly.   When she saw that he had no intention of holding her,
her sobs grew deeper.

“My lady,” he tried to
sound firm. “You must stop weeping. We have very serious matters to discuss.”

“I will not marry the
prince,” she wept. “I will not go to Ogmore.  You and I are going to be married
and raise a dozen children and live our lives together.”

He took a long, deep
breath, praying for courage. “Nay, we are not,” he said. “Because I am not
going to marry you.  I am leaving as soon as my brother arrives and you will
continue on to Ogmore, marry your prince, and fulfill your destiny.”

Her head came up, her
expression laced with shock. “You… you will not marry me? What nonsense is
this?”

It was a lie, such a bold-faced
lie. It took all of his strength not to break down as he spoke it. “No
nonsense, I assure you,” he replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained
as he felt. “You have a destiny that I am not a part of. What we feel now, at
this moment, will be a memory soon enough. We will recover from this momentary
madness. But England will not recover if you do not fulfill your duty.  There
is no negotiation on this, Elizabeau. You will do what you are told and so will
I.”

Her tears had stopped
and she just stared at him.  “Does your sense of duty mean more than I do?”

He almost choked on his
words, but it was necessary. “Aye.”

“Swear this to me, Rhys.
Swear to me that your sense of duty means more than being with the woman you
love.”

“I swear it.”

“I do not believe you.”

“It is the truth.”

Every word was like a
dagger into her heart, pounding deeper and deeper.  The pain was greater than
tears. The deep green eyes fixed on him, the light in them dulling as his words
sank in.

“De Lohr,” she finally
hissed. “He’s threatened you somehow. He has forced you to say such things.”

Rhys shook his head.
“There is no man alive that can force me to do something I do not want to do. 
You must understand that what we feel for each other was never meant to be. It
should not be.  It cannot be.  You must marry your prince and I must go on with
my life.”

“But I do not want to
marry the prince. I want to marry you!”

“If you do not marry the
prince, then you will be alone. I will not marry you.”

“Are you saying you do
not love me? That it was just a frivolous thing to be carelessly treated,
carelessly discarded?”

“I will not waste my
time on something that can never be.”

All of her tears were
gone, replaced by shock and devastation.  He sounded so cold, so hard, and she
was coming to feel like the biggest fool in the world.  She simply couldn’t
believe it, not after the words they had shared that afternoon. Had it all been
a joke to him?  Unable to think of anything more to say, shattered to the bone
by his words, she simply turned away. 

 Rhys sat there, gazing
at the back of her reddish-gold hair, thinking that never in his life had he
ever said anything that hurt him so badly.  He loved her more with every breath
he took.  But she had to understand what her duty was and he could think of no
other way to convince her.  Being soft with her hadn’t worked; maybe if he
could convince her to hate him, she would do as she must.  He could see no
other way.

Silently, he rose from
the chair and moved it back where he had found it.  He didn’t even bother
looking back at her as he moved to the door, terrified that if he did so he
would break and fall to his knees, begging her forgiveness. His big hand fell
on the latch.

“I will tell de Lohr
that you are ready to move on to Ogmore,” he wasn’t able to keep the dullness
from his tone. “My brother should be here in a couple of days.  I will inform
de Lohr that Rod will take you on to Ogmore when he arrives.”

He waited a moment for
her to reply but she did not.  He could feel her anguish radiating out to him
and it nearly destroyed him. Clenching his teeth, his hands, he quit the room
and shut the door quietly behind him.   He couldn’t stand what he had just
done. But it had been necessary, he kept telling himself.  It had to be.

Half way down the stairwell,
he put his fist through the wall.

***

Elizabeau had been at
Whitebook for five days; five of the longest, most miserable days of her life. 
Even now, as she sat in the kitchen yard under a big poplar tree and watched
the goats in the distance, her senses were dull and her heart was in pieces. 
She simply didn’t care about anything any longer, her mission or her life
included.  Everything about her was dead.

Rhys had been around as
a constant reminder to her pain, hovering nearby wherever she was simply
because he was assigned to protect her. He would only speak to her when
absolutely necessary.  When she slept, she slept alone although he would come
into the room late at night, sleep in a chair, and then leave before she rose. 
As far as his family knew, they were still married. Nothing had changed on that
front.  But it was apparent to all that something had changed since de Lohr’s
visit.   The light had gone out of both Elizabeau and Rhys.

Christopher and his
knights had left almost as soon as they had arrived, continuing on their
journey to Ogmore Castle.  Staying at Whitebook would have attracted too much
attention and it was best that they move on to the enormous concentric fortress
that was a two day ride from Whitebrook.  Any of John’s assassins that had
managed to trail them would focus on de Lohr and hopefully draw any attention
away from Rhys and Whitebrook. Rhys had assured de Lohr that the lady would
make her rendezvous wit h her prince, so there was nothing left to do but to go
to Ogmore and wait for her to arrive.

It was a lovely November
day, if not a bit cool.  Elizabeau sat in the shade of the tree, trembling with
chill but not noticing.  She was focused on what was to become of her, marrying
a man she did not know and commanding an army on two continents that would put
her upon the throne of England. It all seemed like a dream, so far away and
awful.  She wasn’t even sure any of this was real any longer.  All she knew was
that her life was in ruins, more than she could have ever dreamed.

Lost in thought, she was
startled when someone put a cloak around her shoulders.   She looked up to see
Rhett standing next to her, leaning heavily on his cane as he tried to adjust
the cloak.   When he saw that her attention was on him, he smiled weakly.

“’Tis cold here in the
shade,” he said. “I would not want to see you catch chill.”

She didn’t know what to
say to the old man. She couldn’t even muster the strength to thank him. 
Pulling the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, her attention returned to
the farm animals several yards away. 

Rhett didn’t leave.  He
continued to stand next to her, his gaze moving between her pale face and the
objects of her attention.  He leaned heavily on his cane, trying to think of
something to say that would not be too trite or too heady.  He knew what was
going on; Rhys had confided in him the previous night after too much drink. 
They both agreed it had been the best course of action for him to take at the
time.  But for as miserable as the lady was, Rhys was far worse.  His façade
was as emotionless as always, but inside, he was crushed.

Even now, Rhys sat
several yards away just within the line of sight of the rear yard where the
lady was, pretending to work on a piece of armor by fooling with the straps. It
was a greave, the heavy armor that went against his lower legs.  Rhett knew
that there was nothing wrong with it; Rhys just didn’t want to sit idle.  He
was more than likely afraid that if his hand or mind was not occupied, he would
inevitably gravitate towards the lady and to do so would be very bad for the
both of them.  So he fiddled with the leather and tried not to brood.

“Rhys tells me that you
have lived in London for the past several years,” Rhett began the conversation
safely enough. “I’ve not been to London in quite some time. I would imagine it
has changed some since the days of the king’s father.”

Elizabeau sat there a
moment, wrapped in the strange cloak, watching the goats eat pieces of the
wooden chicken coop. “I would not know, my lord. I can only tell you that it
has not changed overly in the past fifteen years.”

“Your family is from
Cornwall, is it not?”

“Indeed. But I left
Cornwall with my mother when I was three. We have lived in London ever since.”

Rhett hoped to keep her
talking, at least hoping to bring some life back to her. “And your mother? Is
she still alive?”