Spectre of the Sword (44 page)

Rhys looked up at
Elizabeau, gazing into her pale, strained face. “Nay,” he murmured, gathering
the reins as he prepared to mount. “I will take her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure enough.”

He mounted heavily
behind her, gathering her into one arm as he settled himself on the saddle. Elizabeau
could feel the emotion in his embrace; she wasn’t oblivious to where he was
taking her.  All of the pain and joy of the past few months was about to come
to fruition and there was nothing she could do about it. Men had fought and
died for her. She would not disappoint no matter if her heart was breaking or
not. Tears found their way onto her cheeks as she touched David’s hand.

“I can never thank you
enough for what you have done,” she looked at Geist also. “For what both of you
have done. You have saved my life and Rhys’ life and I shall ever be in your debt.”

David could hear shouts
coming from the castle, knowing that the king’s men had regrouped and were
coming for them again. Now that the arrows had stopped flying and they realized
an entire army hadn’t set upon them, they had their wits returned and were
ready to do battle.

“We expect great things
from you, my lady,” David said. “You may thank us with your fair and just
rule.”

She nodded her head,
sighing sadly. Rhys squeezed her gently and turned the charger in the direction
of freedom, but Geist stopped him.

He had been watching the
exchange between the Rhys and the lady, the sorrow bleeding out from their
actions and expressions.  He had seen a good deal of the emotion between them
earlier when he had been in the vault; Rhys was so very gentle and caring of
her, and she gazed at him with such adoration that it made Geist feel like an
intruder just to be witness to it.  He’d seen such emotion in Wales when Conrad
had first met Carys; the more time the two of them spent together, the more
obvious it was how alike they were.  Conrad was a spoiled boy that tried hard
to do good.  Carys seemed to bring out a maturity in him that was promising. 
He also knew of the prince’s proposal to Rhys and de Lohr; he had been there to
witness it. To know that these four people would soon be miserable did not seem
fair in the least no matter what royal blood or thrones were involved. Unless….

“Wait,” Geist said,
struggling through his broken English to find the correct words.  “Prince
Conrad… I was there when he told you of Carys. I know what he asked of you.”

Rhys stopped short of
spurring the horse on, surprised at the sharp change in subject.  In fact, it
stumped him to the point where all he could think to say was, “What?”

Geist spoke urgently. “I
know that Conrad loves your sister. He wishes to marry her. He made an offer to
you once; I heard him. Have you considered it?”

Rhys realized what he
was speaking of; he remembered that the man had accompanied Conrad into that
warm, stale stable on that wintery night.  But bringing up that particular
conversation, at this moment, had Rhys more on edge than he already was.

“Why do you ask such
things?”

Geist smiled weakly.
“Because now is the time to ask; would you consider Conrad’s proposal?”

Rhys appeared at a loss
for words, eyeing David for a moment and not sure if the man had any knowledge
of the prince’s proposition. He wasn’t sure if Christopher told him and it
would take too long to explain. His answer was delayed as more shouts could be
heard in the castle and Geist suddenly spoke swiftly.

“We all know that you
love Lady Elizabeau,” he said. “We have seen this from you for three months.
Everyone knows.  We also know that Conrad loves your sister and wishes to marry
her. He does not want to marry your lady.  He asked if you would switch brides;
your sister for the lady. Will you do it?”

Rhys’ gaze grew intense
as the voices from the castle drew nearer.  “It is not my decision to make.
Even if I could, how would…?”

Geist interrupted him.
“David and I can tell Conrad and Lord de Lohr that you and the lady perished. 
If you take her now, no one will ever know. And Conrad can be free to marry
Carys.”

Rhys cast a glance at
David, who looked back at him with astonishment.  Elizabeau, all of this being
new information to her, gasped with surprise.

“Conrad is in love with
Carys?” she turned to Rhys. “Does she love him in return?”

Rhys was still staring
at David, ignoring Elizabeau’s question completely. Even as shouts abounded as
the king’s soldiers drew closer, he couldn’t help the sense of elation and hope
he felt. It was soaring to the sky, growing brighter with each passing second. 
As the day dawned bright and clear, Rhys’ anticipation of the possibility
surmounted his devotion to his country, his ruler, and even God.  He wanted it
so badly that he ached.

“David,” he whispered.
“It would not be treason.  No one would ever know.”

“Are you mad?” David
hissed. “I cannot give permission for such a thing and you know it.”

“But it makes all the
sense in the world,” Rhys persisted. “Elizabeau and I will flee to France or
Saxony and assume an entirely new life while the prince can marry my sister and
give her such status and wealth as she has never dreamed.  David, it is a
chance for all of us to be happy. Please don’t deny us.”

“But you are gaining
happiness at England’s cost,” David pointed out, though not too strongly.
“Elizabeau is our hope for a new monarch and a new life for England. What
happens if she does not assume the throne with the prince?”

“Then you will find
another Elizabeau and another prince,” Rhys murmured. “Lords and kings have
been doing such a thing for a thousand years. All of it will not end with
Elizabeau.  Life, and England, will go on without her.  But I cannot.”

David looked at him as
if he had lost his mind.  But at the same time, his sister-in-law’s words came
crashing down on him, you would border on madness just as much as Rhys if
something was to happen to Emilie.  God help him, he knew it was the truth. He
would not want to live. He had such power at the moment; the power to give
another man such happiness as most would never know.  It was betrayal of his
brother’s cause and it was dishonesty at its best.  But he knew, as he lived
and breathed, that it was the right thing to do.  In hindsight, he’d known it
all along.  He could feel himself relenting.

“Please, David,” Rhys
begged as the voices from the castle sounded as if they were just on the other
side of the wall. “Please help us….”

David unsheathed his
broadsword in one hand, still carrying Lawrence’s crossbow with the other.  He
marched over to Rhys and Elizabeau, astride the big red charger, nearly pushing
Geist out of his way in his haste.  His pale blue eyes were fixed on Rhys.

“All right,” he
muttered, his gaze moving between the two of them.  “I’ll do as you ask. But
this had better not come back to haunt me.”

Rhys almost collapsed
with relief. “It will not, I swear it.”

David acknowledged him,
feeling guilty and elated at the same time. “You and Elizabeau were beheaded
and your bodies burned,” he said quietly, quickly. “Although I did not see it
directly, that was what I was told. And Lawrence… Lawrence was killed trying to
save you.”

Rhys smiled faintly at
the man’s wisdom in all things.  It took a strong man to make a decision of the
heart, and to also ensure that another man’s memory would always been fondly
remembered to those he had served with.  It would benefit no one to know of
Lawrence’s treachery. Christopher thought of him as a friend, and a friend
would be how he remembered him.  He would also remember Rhys as a friend and
loyal knight as well, killed in the line of duty.  It was the best thing for
them all.

While Rhys struggled to
come to terms, Elizabeau reached out to touch David’s hand again.  There were
tears in her eyes. “There is no gratitude strong enough,” she murmured. “God
bless you, David de Lohr. God bless you for this.”

Uncomfortable, and the
least bit emotional, David smacked the charger on the rear, driving the animal
through the grass. “Take care of each other,” he called after them. “And for
God’s sake, be happy.”

Rhys waved a hand at him
in response as he dug his heels into the charger and the beast tore off towards
the north where a grove of trees waited to shield and embrace them.  David
watched until the voices from the castle were too close for comfort before
bolting in the opposite direction, taking Geist with him. 

“So what do we do now?”
Geist was running like the wind beside him, huffing and puffing. “Will you tell
your brother what you told Rhys?”

David leapt over the
overgrown grass, wondering when the arrows were going to come flying off the
walls at them.

“I will tell him exactly
what you heard,” he breathed as they raced towards a cluster of oak to shield
themselves from flying projectiles. “And you had better take the secret to the
grave with you or the grave will come much sooner than you think.”

Geist wasn’t offended.
“I am just as guilty as you in this,” he almost tripped in the grass but caught
himself. “I will not betray this secret.”

“Not even Conrad must
know.”

“You have my word. He
will know only what you tell your brother.”

Bolting through the
trees and finally on to the road leading south, David and Geist continued
running until they were both thoroughly exhausted. They kept waiting for the
king’s soldiers to come
charging
out of the castle at them, but so far, there was no hostile posse on their
tail. When it finally became apparent that they were well out of range of the archers
and out of eyesight of the castle, David slowed to a walk and the skinny
Teutonic knight beside him. Breathing heavily, Geist cast him a long glance.

“You are a good man, Sir
David,” he said, coughing for breath. “You have made my lord a very happy man
and

for that, I thank you.”

David nodded faintly,
looking up to see a knight he recognized racing towards them on the dusty road.
Rod de Titouan approached at a gallop, a big man on a silver charger, and David
suddenly realized how news of his brother’s death would affect the man. Rod and
Rhys were as close as David and Christopher were and he knew, without a doubt,
how much his brother’s death would destroy him. As Rod drew closer, David
realized that he was already about to break his vow. He knew there was one
other person who would take the secret to the grave; the secret of Rhys and Elizabeau.

Rod wept when David told
him.

EPILOGUE

Year
of our lord 1215 AD

Savignac
de Duras, France

Bellay Castle towered
over the landscape of the Savignac region of Navarre, guarding the northern and
western borders of the province. It was a big place, heavily manned and
fortified since this particular region of France was much desired by the
English. But since King John had died six months earlier and his young son now
sat on the throne, the French stood down their vigilance yet watched the
politics of England carefully. With a nine year old boy on the throne, anything
could happen.

But that was not the
concern of some members of the house and hold. In fact, it was all Elizabeau
could do to keep herself from collapsing from sheer exhaustion as she tried to keep
track on four very small children. She didn’t have the time or energy to worry
about what had become of the throne she had once been slated to assume. Six
years ago, she had sworn that her childbearing days were over. A daughter shortly
after marriage followed quickly by twin boys had provided her and Rhys with a
lovely little family. Her husband could not have been happier. But when the
twins were almost six, Elizabeau found herself pregnant once again. And then
again. She’d had three girls in succession followed by another boy. Now, with
four children under six years of age, she had her hands full.

Which was why she left
the worry of politics to her husband. She had enough on her mind with the
children. Strange how they would run amuck all day until Rhys showed himself
and then, suddenly, they were angels for their doting father. And, God knew,
Rhys doted. He was enamored by his children and they adored him. Although she should
have been more firm with Rhys when he spoiled the children, she didn’t have the
heart. She knew, deep down, that he hurt deeply for the son he left behind in
Wales and showed his love for Maddoc by lavishing attention on his other
children. Somehow, loving and laughing with them eased the ache. But it never
went completely away, not after all these years.

But they were, in truth,
brilliantly happy. They had been for twelve years. Not a day went by that they
did not profess their love for one another; it was well known, in fact, that
Rhys was deeply devoted to his wife more than most husbands could ever hope to
be. And she clearly adored him. So each day was better than the next, and each
night they thanked God that they were together. It could have been completely
different for them both and they were well aware. They took nothing for
granted.