Spectre of the Sword (28 page)

Rod inspected it. “It
looks serviceable enough.  It’s heavier than your newer protection.”

“My newer protection is
far superior.”

Rhys plopped back down
in the chair and reclaimed his drink.  Rod watched him slurp one cup and pour
himself another. He could tell that his brother was deeply disturbed and he set
his own cup down, his gaze sympathetic.

“Rhys,” he said quietly.
“You know I would never dream of interfering in your personal life, but what in
the hell is going on? Did I just see what I thought I saw up in that room?”

Rhys took two long
swallows before turning to his brother with an impassive expression.  “What do
you think you saw?”

Rod lifted his eyebrows
at him. “I may be many things, but a fool is not among them. If I didn’t know
better, I would say that you and the lady have been engaging in, shall we say,
marital pleasures.”

“And just how would you
know that?”

“Because it was written
all over her face,” Rod snapped softly. “And yours; since when do you drink
like this? Brother, you are bleeding confusion and sorrow out of every pour of
your body.  I can feel it.”

Rhys’ jaw flexed
dangerously; coming from a usually emotionless man, it was disturbing.   “You
feel nothing.”

Rod hissed; unlike his
older brother, he was more passionate, more emotional about things.  He did not
like seeing his beloved brother upset.

“You insult me by
lying,” Rod said. “Or do you truly take me for a fool?”

Rhys looked at him,
then, and the tick in his jaw grew worse. “You are a fool if you continue this
line of conversation.”

“Why?” Rod shot back
softly. “Are you going to run me through with those dual blades? Are you going
to strike me? Or are you going to tell me the truth and let me help you?”

Rhys stared at him.  His
jaw was so tense that his lips were white.  He suddenly sat back in his chair
as if Rod had just struck him.

“You cannot help,” he
muttered, turning away. “God knows, I wish you could. I truly wish you could.”

Rod was relieved that
Rhys hadn’t taken him up on his suggestion of implanting the swords into his
body.  He was also relieved that Rhys seemed to be letting his guard down. He
sat forward, lowering his voice.

“Tell me the truth. Did
you compromise the lady?” he asked.

Rhys lowered his head;
he was staring into this lap.  After a moment, he nodded his head. “I did, and
I do not regret it, not for one moment.” His head shot up and he stared at his
brother, the brilliant blue eyes blazing. “I love her, Rod. I love her with all
of my heart and soul and she returns that love. We are shattered at the
knowledge that she will marry another and we both know that there isn’t a damn
thing we can do to stop it.  I would give up my work, my strength, and my life
just for a chance to be with her but we both know that it is impossible.  Now
that I’ve said all of this, do you still believe you can help me? I am a knight
who has destroyed my mission and forsaken everything I ever believed in.  But
know this; I would do it again in an instant if presented with the same
proposition.  The lady means everything to me and I would do it all again
without hesitation.”

It was an impassioned,
devastating speech. Rod stared at his brother, heartbroken and shocked.  But he
really had not suspected otherwise.  Still, he hurt desperately for his
brother. He could read such pain in the man’s eyes as he could not fathom.  He
sighed heavily.

“Rhett told me
everything,” he said quietly. “He told me why he summoned me from Bronllys. 
After what you have just told me, you must turn her over to me, Rhys. You must
let me complete this mission before the damage is irreversible.”

“It is already
irreversible,” Rhys snapped softly. “I am thinking of taking the lady out of
the country. Perhaps to France or Ireland, somewhere where we can be married
and live out our lives together.”

Rod’s brow furrowed.
“Are you mad? She is the next queen of England. She is destined to rule.”

“She is destined to be
my wife.”

“She belongs to
another.”

The last two sentences
were spoken rapidly, one atop the other. Rhys and Rod glared at each other, the
brilliant blue eyes of Orlaith’s sons blazing passion and sorrow at one
another.  Rhys turned back to his ale and drained the second cup.  When he set
it down to pour a third, a soft white hand reached down to take it away.  The
brothers looked up to see Elizabeau standing next to the table.

She looked beautiful. Clad
in one of Gwyneth’s old brown surcoats and wrapped in the dead woman’s cloak,
she had brushed her golden red hair and plaited it into a thick braid that
draped down one shoulder. There was something so incredibly lovely and serene
about the woman, something indescribable and unreachable.  She took Rhys’ cup
and set it to the opposite side of the table as she took a chair.

“I would guess that
you’ve had two or more cups of that stuff since you’ve been sitting here,” she
said evenly, lifting an eyebrow at him when he frowned at her. “I’ve been
around you enough to know that once you start, you don’t easily stop. And do
not glare at me.  Hand me some of that bread, please.”

Rhys pursed his lips
irritably but stopped glaring as she had commanded.  He broke off the center
part of the bread for her and placed it in her hand.  She smiled sweetly at
him.

“Thank you,” she
murmured, popping a soft piece in her mouth and casting a glance at Rod. “Good
morn to you, Rod. It would seem that we saw each other earlier this morning
under somewhat awkward circumstances.”

Rod gazed at the woman,
seeing exactly what his brother did in her.  She was exquisite, intelligent,
strong and ethereal.  He didn’t blame Rhys in the least for succumbing to her
and he could see, clearly, how much control she had over the man.

“It was my fault for
barging in when I did, my lady,” he replied, trying not to think of her naked
body wrapped in a sheet. “I am sorry I disturbed you.”

He wasn’t looking at her
as he spoke; Elizabeau continued to watch him as she ate, studying his
movements, his expression, realizing he was either embarrassed or distracted. 
From the look on Rhys’ face, she had no doubt what the topic of conversation
had been before she had arrived.    She put her hand on Rhys’ arm.

“Have you eaten?” she
asked him gently. “You must eat something. We have a long trip back to
Whitebrook.”

He didn’t reply but
dutifully took piece of the bread and chewed on it.   He remained silent as did
Rod.  Elizabeau put the last of the bread in her mouth and went for the cheese.

“Well,” she said
brightly. “I can see that you both are brilliant conversationalist this
morning. I suppose that I will have to do all of the talking.”

While Rod smiled weakly,
Rhys continued to stare at the tabletop, slowly chewing his bread.  Elizabeau
could feel the man’s depression radiating from him like a black cloud but she
refused to give in to it, not now. Not when they had so little time left
together.  She did not want to spend it being miserable.  She would have misery
enough in the years to come.

“Do you know that when I
was very young, one of my mother’s gentleman friends bought me a monkey?” she
said, watching Rod’s expression lighten somewhat. “It’s true. I had a little
monkey with a round head and a little beard that moved very comically when it
ate.  He was a funny little thing; he liked to hang on the tops of doors and
jump on unsuspecting people below.  Once he jumped on a serving woman and do
you know that she fainted dead away? And once she revived, she screamed for the
rest of the day. I thought it was great fun but my mother was furious.”

Rod was grinning by the
time she was finished.  She was a very charming storyteller. “And did this
horrific little creature have a name?” he asked.

She nodded. “His name was
Rhys du Bois.” When Rhys suddenly looked up at her, she broke out into
laughter. “I mean, his name was George. George the Dragonslayer.”

She was still laughing
at Rhys and the man’s stern countenance cracked. His lips twitched with a smile
as he shook his head at her. “You named a common beast after the greatest
knight who has ever lived?”

Her smile faded. “You
are the greatest knight who has ever lived.”

The air between them
suddenly bristled with emotion. Rod could not only see it, he could feel it.  He
cleared his throat softly, not wanting the light moment to deteriorate. “If we
are to make it back to Whitebrook at a reasonable hour, then we should go.”

Elizabeau nodded,
wrapping her hand around Rhys’ gloved one. He squeezed it tightly, taking the
pitcher of ale and downing it in three great swallows. Elizabeau watched him
without a word, knowing that the man was looking for something to ease his
pain.  Rod stood up, gathering what was left of his brother’s armor from under
the table as he prepared to leave. 

“I’ll go see if the
horses are ready,” he said, moving to the front door. “I will meet you out
front.”

When he was gone, it was
just the two of them sitting alone and silent at the table. They were still
staring at each other.  Rhys finally broke the spell, rising to his feet with a
slow and deliberate move. Taking both of Elizabeau’s hands, he gently pulled
her to stand next to him.  Kissing both of her palms, then her wrists, he
tucked one of her hands into the crook of his right elbow and led her out into
the morning beyond.

***

David had two choices in
riding for Whitebrook; either through the mountains or by the coastal route. 
In the wee early hours before dawn, David had mounted a contingent of twenty
men and decided to take the coastal route.  It was less strenuous on the horses
and more easily traveled.  Moreover, if Rhys was heading for Ogmore as he
should be, it was more than likely the route he would be taking simply for ease
on the lady.  David instructed Lawrence and the other men to be vigilant in
looking for Rhys and the lady.

So they rode hard into
the pre-dawn hours, making their way to the coastal road and proceeding at a
fast pace as the eastern sky began to turn faint shades of gray. They passed
through some smaller towns along the way, beginning to come alive as the day
advanced. But what David failed to realize was that in passing through the town
of Bassaleg, he had picked up a tail. 

David should have been
more vigilant but he was more concerned with finding Rhys.  The party that
began to trail them in Bassaleg was perhaps no more than seven or eight men but
they stayed well away from David’s party and trailed him from the northwest.  
While David and his men openly used the main road, the other party stayed to
the smaller road and trees to the north.

The men sent to search
for Geoffrey’s bastard had been carousing in the area for over a week.  It was
their job to keep an eye out for de Lohr and his men, escorting the princess to
meet with her betrothed at Ogmore.  Aye, they knew it was Ogmore; they had for
several days.  A contact from within de Lohr’s camp had told them so and gave
information about the generality of their route.  And so, they had been
waiting.

The sighting of David de
Lohr had been a pleasant realization.  And the man had been riding like the
wind.  So being the cunning soldiers that they were, they quickly followed. If
the earl’s brother was riding for hell, there must be a reason.  And John’s men
would know what the reason was.

Fortunately, the sun
hadn’t risen yet so the party of the king’s men was able to follow de Lohr
relatively unobtrusively.  They had followed him into Newport where they had
almost lost the trail, but managed to pick it up again on the other side.  
Still, de Lohr rode as if oblivious to all else.

David wasn’t oblivious
but he was focused.  When the party hit Newport, he had sent his men to some
local inns to search for du Bois but they had come back empty handed.   They
had also veered off in Langstone because it was popular with travelers and had
many inns, but again, they came back without du Bois.   The next town was
Caldicot.

The sun was just rising
as they entered the town.  Half of the men headed down to the taverns near the
seaport while the other half, including David and Lawrence, went to the north
end of the city so start their search.  It was purely by chance that they came
upon Rod de Titouan as the man was leading out two chargers near a cluster of
inns.   David was about to greet the man when Rhys, and Lady Elizabeau, emerged
from one of the taverns.

“Rhys,” David hailed as
he rode upon them. “What luck finding you. We had just about given up.”

Rhys looked up at David,
somewhat startled to see him.  “Greetings, David,” he said evenly, nodding
acknowledgement to Lawrence. “What are you doing here?”

Lawrence ordered the men
to spread out to keep an eye on the surrounding area as David dismounted his
white charger.  He removed one glove and then his helm, scratching at his
sweaty blond scalp.

“Looking for you,” David
noticed Elizabeau standing on the other side of Rhys.  The woman seemed to grow
more beautiful by the hour. “Good morn to you, my lady.”