Spectre of the Sword (27 page)

Some of the nicer inns
in the center of the town were filled to capacity.  Apparently, several
merchant vessels had made port the night before and it was standing room only. 
Rod moved out of the area and to the north near an unattractive area known as
Highmoor Hills and settled in one of two unnamed, unknown taverns in the
vicinity.  It was quiet and less traveled and he settled down to a meal of
cheese, brown bread and some kind of meat.  Just before the serving wench left
the table, he asked her the standard question that he had asked countless times
before over the past two days.

“I am looking for a big
knight with black hair and blue eyes, bearing the seal of de Lohr,” he said as
he drank from his cup. “Have you seen such a man?”

Much to his surprise,
the girl nodded. “I have, m’lord.”

Rod perked up, slamming
his cup back to the table. “Are you sure? Where?”

The girl pointed up the
steps.  “Up there.  The door on the left.”

It was too good to be
true. Rod looked up to the landing she was indicating. “Is he a very big man
who black hair and blue eyes? He looks rather like me. And there is a woman
with him.”

The wench nodded again
and continued to point up the stairs. Rod was on his feet, taking the steps two
at a time.  They were rickety steps and groaned under his weight.  Reaching the
landing, he went to the door on the left and pounded on it.

“Rhys,” he called. “’Tis
me. Open the door, man.”

The room on the other
side of the door was perfectly silent.   Rod pounded again. “Rhys,” he hissed.
“Open the damn door.”

More silence. Just as
Rod was about to pound again, the door flew open and a very powerful arm
reached out and yanked him into the room. Rod stumbled in and fell to his
knees, stopped from falling on his face by the position of the bed.  He crashed
into it and stopped his momentum. When he looked up, it was into Elizabeau’s
startled features.   She was in bed and, from the way she was clutching the
sheet against her chest, quite naked.   Rod put a foot underneath his body and
turned to his brother as he stood up.

“Why in the hell did you
do that?” he demanded.

Rhys’ face was taut with
anger; clad only in his breeches, he looked disheveled. “Because you make
enough noise to let every one of John’s assassins within a ten mile radius know
that we are here. Do you not know anything of stealth, you idiot?”

Rod made a face at him.
“’Tis good to see you, too.”

Rhys let out a
frustrated hiss and rolled his eyes at his younger brother. “What are you doing
here?” he demanded.  “What’s happened?”

“I came to find you and
the lady,” Rod didn’t want to be too obvious about looking to the
apparently-naked woman in the bed. “That group of men you fled from at
Whitebrook were not assassins.  They are the lady’s betrothed and his escort. 
I’ve been sent to bring you back.”

Rhys’ expression didn’t
change, but inside, he felt as if he had been hit in the stomach.  “What?” was
the only thing he could think to say.

Rod looked at his
brother as if speaking to a simpleton. “Those men you fled from yesterday,” he
repeated patiently. “It is the prince betrothed to the lady.  Conrad is his
name.”

Rhys’ head began to swim
with surprise. “But why did they go to Whitebrook? Who told him she would be
there?”

“De Burgh,” Rod replied.
“He knew of your plans and sent the prince to Whitebrook when the path to Ogmore
because too dangerous. It would seem that John’s assassins are trailing the
prince as well.”

Rhys stared at his
brother a moment. “You are sure it is him?”

“Positive. His Germanic
is so thick that you can hardly understand a word the man says, so he must be
who he says he is.”

Rhys’ maintained his
gaze a moment longer before finally averting his eyes, nodding his head as he
did so. “Very well,” he said in a strangely subdued tone. “Then we will return
to Whitebrook right away.”

Rod watched his
brother’s passive movements before finally turning to the lady still on the
bed.  She sat there, wrapped in the coverlet, her wide eyes staring off into
the room.  She looked like she was made of stone, just sitting there, staring.
Another glance at Rhys showed that he hadn’t even looked at the lady; he was
preparing to dress. The mood of the room was strangely heavy and Rod suddenly
felt like an intruder.   He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, moving
for the door. “I have a meal waiting for me down stairs.  I’ll wait for you
there.”

“Have my horse brought
around if you would, please,” Rhys asked him quietly.

Rod nodded and, with a
lingering glance at his brother and the lady, quit the room.  He didn’t know
what exactly was going on in that little chamber, but he was no fool. He could
guess.

When he was gone,
Elizabeau continued to sit on the bed as Rhys pulled his tunic over his head. 
He struggled to stay focused on the task of dressing, knowing that if he were
to look at Elizabeau, he would crumble.  He kept his back to her as he pulled
on his boots, moving to the wall where he had put his pieces of armor.  Bending
over to retrieve his greaves, he was caught from behind by a soft, warm pair of
arms encircling his waist.

He put his big hand over
the warm ones clasped at his belly.  He didn’t even know what to say to her,
afraid that saying anything would cause them both to break.  After the morning,
he knew the woman was tattooed into his heart as surely as if she had
physically done such a thing.  He couldn’t even think straight at the moment
and struggled to collect himself.

“’Twill be all right,”
she squeezed him tightly. “Everything will be all right. “

Rhys paused in dressing,
feeling the odd sensation of tears stinging his eyes. He hadn’t experienced
such a thing since he had been a young boy. Everything was swamping over him,
emotions he could no longer control, feelings he no longer had rein of.

“I do not know if I can
do this,” he hissed, words bursting forth from his mouth as he tried to stop
them. “Even as I know that I must, I do not know if I have the strength to.”

She squeezed him again,
her cheek against his broad back. “You do indeed have the strength,” she assured
him softly. “You are the strongest man I know, the most righteous and the most
noble.  You can do this.”

He turned to look at
her; it was a huge mistake. With her golden-red hair mussed and her sweet face
glowing in the early light of morning, she looked like an angel. He suddenly
dropped to his knees, enfolding her into his arms and burying his face in her
belly.   Elizabeau held him tightly.

“My sweet darling,” she
crooned. “We have such precious memories, memories only between the two of us
that no one can ever take away. I do not regret those memories, not for one
moment. They are everything I knew they would be. If I cannot have you for the
rest of my life, then at least I can have that. I am strangely satisfied and
wholly grateful.”

He took a long, deep
breath and looked up at her, his brilliant blue eyes glowing.  She stroked his
scratchy cheeks as he spoke.

“As I am wholly grateful
as well,” he murmured. “But… but I find that every conviction I ever held about
completing this mission is now shattered. If de Lohr were to come through that
door at this moment and demand I turn you over, I would kill him. I truly
would. You belong to none other but me and I will fight anyone who would try to
take you away.”

Her face grew serious.
“You cannot,” she whispered. “You said yourself that if we stay together, our
life would be one of stress and fear. We would be running for the rest of our
lives, destined for a life of pursuing enemies.  We cannot live like that. You
cannot live like that; you are a great knight, Rhys. You have a great life to
fulfill.  We both do.”

He stared at her, her
words cutting in to him like a knife. Now, the tables were turned and it was
she who was comforting him. He had collapsed and she was strong.  It was an odd
switching of roles but not a surprising one; Rhys always knew that Elizabeau
was inordinately strong. She had showed him that time and time again, and she
was entirely correct.  Now, he would have to depend on her to keep him strong. 

He remembered thinking
once, when he had first met her, that he’d made it a practice in life to stay
clear of women in general. They could topple a man faster than the mightiest
enemy and he’d seen it before. God help him, now he was the one being toppled. 
Now he understood why men did what they did when a woman was involved. 
Stiffly, he rose to his feet and kissed her on the forehead.

“I know,” he murmured,
kissing her again and releasing her. He was afraid to say anymore, afraid he
would run amuck. “I will finish dressing and go to my brother. We will wait for
you downstairs.”

She patted his cheek.
“As you say, darling,” she turned back to the bed, collecting her clothing
where he had thrown it on the floor when he had ripped it from her body. “I
shan’t be long.”

He didn’t say anything, pulling
his boots on and proceeding with his armor.  By the time he got to his breast
plate, he required some help and she gave him silent assistance in finishing
securing a few of the leather straps.  When he finally picked up his helm and
turned to look at her, she was smiling at him.

“You look like the man I
first saw at Hyde House,” she said. “You were the biggest man I had ever seen. 
I was terrified of you only I would never let you know that.”

He smiled weakly. “You
portrayed the exact opposite. In fact, you were quite combative.”

She put her fists up in
front of her as if ready to box him. “Combative, was I? Now you’ve insulted
me.  Prepare to fight.”

He eyed her, rubbing his
chin as he spoke.  “Fighting you wasn’t what I had in mind.”

She lifted an eyebrow
and put her fists to rest on her hips. “Is that so? Just want do you have in
mind? And how do you know that I will not protest?”

He wriggled his eyebrows
and turned for the door. “You did not protest last night. Or this morning.”

She saw that he was
preparing to leave and she dashed to his side, putting her hand over his as it
rested on the latch.  Suddenly, she was very serious as she gazed up at him.

“Kiss me before you go,”
she begged softly. “It might be the very last time we have such an opportunity
before… before.…”

She could not finish and
he did not let her.  Setting the helm to the table, he took her in his arms and
kissed her deeply, sweetly, tasting her essence and burning the sensation deep
into his memory.  His mouth moved from her lips to her cheeks to her forehead,
branding every inch of flesh he could come into contact with.  His heart was
hurting so that he was positive it would burst.  He simply could not believe
this was about to end, that he allowed himself unrestrained feeling for the
woman. But he was so glad that he had. He wouldn’t have missed the experience,
short as it was, for anything.

He returned to her lips
and kissed her one last time before pulling back, gazing adoringly into the
dark green eyes.  Gently, he touched her cheek.

“Finish dressing,” he
murmured. “I will see you down stairs.”

Her lips were swollen
from his attentions, her cheeks flushed. “I love you, Rhys. For always and
forever.  You will remember that.”

His brilliant blue eyes
were dim with sorrow. “As I will love you, and no other, for the rest of my
life.”

She smiled bravely at
him, closing the door softly behind him as he left.  But the tears came the
moment he quit the room and she allowed herself a few, luxurious moments of
wallowing in grief that was beyond description.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rod was waiting for Rhys
with a big cup of ale in hand.  His feet were propped up on a chair and he
hardly gave his brother a glance when the man finally joined him at the
table.   Rhys was withdrawn and moody as the serving wench presented him with
bread and cheese.   He ignored it for the most part, helping himself to the ale
that Rod was drinking.

Rod watched his brother
drink heavily from the corner of his eye. “Here,” his feet suddenly dropped to
the floor and he reached under the table, drawing forth some of his brother’s
equipment that he had brought with him. “I thought you might want this.”

It was Rhys’
double-sword sheath, complete with both weapons intact.  There were also more
pieces of armor but Rhys was already fortified.   Rhys stood up and began to
strap on the double-sword sheath.

“Thanks,” he said to his
brother has he fussed with the straps. “I left Whitebrook so quickly that I
left all of my weaponry behind.”

Rod flicked a finger at
him. “Where’d you get that armor?”

“From St. Braivels.”

Rod took a good look at
the older, well-used armor. “Is that the stuff that FitzPeter gave you?”

Rhys nodded, securing
the last of the leather. “It was all I had available.”