Spectre of the Sword (6 page)

He nodded his head faintly.
“She died a few years ago giving birth to my son.”

Elizabeau closed her
eyes briefly, with sorrow. “I am sorry, Rhys. I did not mean to pry. Please
accept my sympathies.”

He shook his head as if
snapping himself out of that particular train of thought.  Rising swiftly, he
moved to the hearth where the linen sheet lay warming before the fire.  He held
it up to her.

“Get out,” he commanded
softly. “You’ll catch chill if you’re in there any longer.”

Elizabeau gazed up at
him, realizing their line of conversation had taken him back to the cold,
walled-up knight she had known for the bulk of their association. She further
realized she was very sorry; he had proven something of a good
conversationalist and she was disappointed that her line of questioning had
shut him off again.

“Rhys,” she said softly,
sincerely. “I am very sorry if I upset you with my question about your wife. I
did not mean to stir up sorrowful memories.”

“You did not, my lady,”
he said, though his tone was cold. He shook the sheet slightly. “Come along,
now. Get out of the tub and dry yourself.”

It was apparent he had
no intention of either delving into anything more about his wife or accepting
her apology.  With a heavy sigh, Elizabeau reached out and pulled the sheet
from his hand.

“Turn around,” she
instructed him. “You promised not to look and I see that you have already
partially broken that promise.”

She had meant it in
jest, one last hope that he would loosen to her humor. But he turned away
without a word and went back to the window.  Elizabeau watched his stiff back a
moment before climbing from the tub and wrapping herself tightly in the
sheet.   There was a small stool next to the hearth; she pulled it away from
the wall and sat directly in front of the fire to warm up and dry out.

She wasn’t surprised
when he quit the room without a word and disappeared into the stormy night.

***

Elizabeau wasn’t sure
how long she’d been asleep on the small, lumpy bed.  The fire in the hearth had
died somewhat and the room was chilly when she heard the door open again.
Startled, she rolled over to see Rhys locking the door behind him.  She also
noticed that he had an armful of material.

Rubbing her eyes, she
sat up with the linen sheet still wrapped tightly around her body.  It was dark
in the room and difficult to see just what, exactly, he had.

“What have you got
there?” she demanded sleepily. “Where did you go?”

He moved to the bed with
some kind of garment in his hands.  He held it up to her, nearly striking her
in the face with it.

“I went to see our fat
friend,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I selected your garments.  You
were in no condition to select them yourself, being that you only had a sheet
to wear, so I selected them for you.  I hope you are pleased.”

“Good lord,” she muttered,
eyeing him in the weak light.  But she dutifully fingered the garment he was
offering to her, inspecting it as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes.
Upon closer inspection, it was a lovely wine-colored damask with exquisite
craftsmanship.

She took the garment
from him and padded over to the hearth where the light was better.  It was a
finely made surcoat of a ruby-rich fabric, lined in soft pink wool, with a
square neckline and long, draping sleeves.  The sleeves from the elbow down
were made from the same colored brocade, giving the garment a delightfully
detailed look.  It was, in fact, very beautiful.  Curiosity made her wander
over to the chair where he had draped the other garments and she inspected her
way through surcoats of cloud-soft yellow lamb’s wool, light blue Perse fabric
that was similar to very soft linen, and pale green broadcloth.  Upon further
notice, she came across a soft leather girdle, two delicate shifts, a pair of
soft woolen hose, a pair of doeskin gloves, a bleached wool cloak and a pair of
bright red silk pantalets. 

The pantalets were at
the bottom of the pile and she held them up to Rhys, almost accusingly.

“Why on earth did you
buy these?” she demanded, peering at him from around the garment. “They’re…
they’re….”

“The latest from Paris,”
Rhys told her helpfully. “The merchant says that he cannot keep them in stock.
All finely dressed women demand them.”

She cocked an eyebrow at
him before returning her dubious eyes to the pantalets.  She fingered them;
they were very soft.  She imagined they would feel nice against her skin.  With
a shrug, she laid them back with the other garments and turned to him.

“I cannot pay you for
these at the moment,” she said with some embarrassment. “I am afraid that my
coinage is in London. We left so quickly that…”

He waved her off. “De
Burgh supplied me with more than enough to cover expenses. You needn’t worry.

He seemed to be in a
better humor than he had when he had left the room earlier.  It was a curious
mood, as if he had blown off his depression in the past hour and then returned
to her without a grudge. Not wanting to upset him again, she took a deep breath
and forced a smile.

“Then I would thank you
for being so thoughtful,” she said. “You have been a chivalrous and kind escort
and I thank you very much for your foresight in all matters. And I am very
sorry that I called you simple back at Hyde House; it is clear that you are not
a simple man at all.”

He almost looked
embarrassed; he chewed his lip briefly, displaying the deep dimples that carved
through his cheeks like canyons.  The brilliant blue eyes never left her. 
After a moment, he turned back to the chair where the pile of clothes lay and
dug into the very bottom of the chair.  There was a small bag there that she
had missed; he picked it up and tossed it to her.

“More items from the
merchant that I thought you might need,” he said quietly. “Soap, a comb, some
hair things,” he made funny jabbing gestures at his head,” and some manner of
cosmetics.  I do not know what they are; the merchant told me that women in
Paris use them so I told him just to include them.”

She lifted an eyebrow at
him before pulling open the bag and digging inside; there was indeed
sweet-smelling soap, a tortoise shell comb, several decorative hair pins, two
glass phials of perfumed oil, an ointment for softening the skin and a tiny
alabaster pot of red ointment for the lips.  Very feminine, foolish things, but
she was deeply grateful. And deeply touched.  With a twinkle in her eye, she
sought his gaze.

“I cannot possibly thank
you enough,” she said sincerely. “It was very thoughtful and very sweet of you
to procure all of this for me.”

He dipped his head. “A
genuine pleasure, my lady. Now I shall wait outside while you dress.” He
pointed at her. “You’re still running about in that sheet.”

She grinned, shrugging
her shoulders in agreement.  “Rhys,” she said hesitantly. “I am truly sorry if
I upset you with talk of your wife earlier. Please believe me when I say that I
did not mean to.  You have been very kind to me and I would do nothing to
intentionally upset you.”

His gaze lingered on
her. “I know, my lady.”

“Then you are not upset
with me?”

“It is of no matter, my
lady.”

“But it is to me,” she
insisted. “Your feelings matter very much and I am truly sorry.”

He almost dismissed her
again; they could both see it coming. But after a moment, he simply shook his
head. “It is kind of you to be concerned for my feelings. But I truly have none
in the matter. And you did not upset me.”

She wasn’t quite sure it
was the truth but she let it go.  Rhys’ attention lingered on her a moment
longer before he quit the room, moving out into the night that now seemed to be
clearing.   Even after the door softly shut, she stood there, her thoughts
lingering on the massive bear of a man who had been both very cold and very
kind to her.  The paradox was baffling.  But those thoughts vanished in favor
of thoughts of her new garments, and within little time she was clad in a new
shift, the red pantalets, the woolen hose and the soft yellow lamb’s wool
surcoat that hugged every curve of her delicious torso. 

She pinned her
considerable mane into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and wrapped herself
up in the new bleached woolen cloak, a magnificent garment that was lined with
gray rabbit. She also pulled on the gloves.  Wrapped in her new clothes, she so
warm, so cozy, that the heat invited sleep and before she realized it, she was
back on the bed.  Her intention had been to doze until Rhys came back for her,
but she quickly fell into a deep sleep as the sun began to rise.   For the
first time in a day, she was at peace.

The next sensation that
infiltrated her sleep-hazed mind was that of a hand being clamped over her
mouth.

CHAPTER FOUR

“’Tis me, my lovely.”

Elizabeau heard the
softly uttered words and, naturally, being awakened out of a sound sleep,
screamed in fright.  She lashed out a fist, catching whoever it was in the neck
and she could hear the man sputtering as she leapt up from the bed.   Dawn was
breaking and her chamber was still dark, so she could not see the man in her
room but she could hear him gasping for air. 

“Raina!” the man was
stumbling around, knocking over a small table near the hearth. “What’s wrong
with you, woman?”

Elizabeau threw open the
door just as Rhys was opening it. He pushed her out of the way, barreling into
the room with both swords drawn. Elizabeau tripped over her own feet and ended
up on her knees over by the chair where Rhys had sat the majority of the night.
As she watched in astonishment, Rhys bore down on the man still struggling to
stand with his feet tangled in the table. With the door open, more light filled
the room and made clear the inhabitants.  The man with his feet stuck in the
table looked up at Rhys with his weapons drawn and screamed like a woman.

“Don’t kill me, m’lord!”
he threw up his hands for protection. “Don’t kill me, please!”

Rhys was a hair away
from taking the man’s head off in the literal sense. But he sheathed one of his
swords and grabbed the man by his snarled red hair, yanking his head brutally
and forcing the man to look at him.  His brilliant blue eyes were full of fury.

“Who sent you?” he
demanded.

The red-haired man threw
his hands up, partially in self-defense, but mostly in surrender. “No… no one
sent me, m’lord. Did Rendell send you to kill me?”

Rhys’ brilliant eyes
flickered with some confusion that was just as quickly vanished. He yanked the
man’s hair again, listening to him whimper. “I will ask the questions and you
will give me answers. Who are you and why are you here?”

The man’s hands were
shaking. “I came for Raina. This is her chamber.”

For the first time,
Rhys’ offensive posturing seemed to relax somewhat. “Who?”

The man made a weak
gesture towards the bed. “Raina,” he said. “She sleeps here. I… I thought the
lady was her.”

Rhys took his eyes off
the man long enough to look at Elizabeau, now picking herself up off the
floor.  “Did this man harm you in any way, my lady?”

She dusted off her coat
where her knees had hit the floor. “Nay,” she said, eyeing the man warily. “He
did put his hand over my mouth, however.”

Rhys’ fury was back as
he looked down at the man in his grip.  The man could read his death in the
brilliant blue eyes and he began to blubber like an idiot.

“I thought it was Raina
and I didn’t want her to scream,” he wailed. “Her father told me he would kill
me if he ever saw me here again so I put my hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t
make any noise. Please, sir, ‘tis the truth!”

The fury faded again
from Rhys’ eyes; he understood quite a bit in that babbled explanation.  But he
wasn’t done with him yet.  In a flash, he put the razor-sharp edge of his blade
against the man’s throat.

“I do not tolerate
liars,” he growled. “Know that I protect this lady with ferocity and I will not
hesitate to slit your throat for the fact that you have touched her.”

“Rhys,” Elizabeau had
moved up beside him, watching as he terrorized the man.  “Please let him go. I
really do not believe he meant me any harm. He would have had ample opportunity
while I slept and, to be honest, the hand on my mouth was not harsh.  It only
startled me.”

Rhys took his gaze off
the man, looking into Elizabeau’s deep green eyes and, for a moment, finding
himself lost in the emerald depths. She had the most amazing eyes. When she
smiled timidly and put her hand on his wrist as if to pull it away from the
man’s throat, he felt himself folding like a complete idiot.

He let go of the man’s
hair, watching him fall to his hands and knees. But the sword was still out,
still ready to move in a flash if needed.