Spectre of the Sword (9 page)

“Edward,” David moved
towards the remaining knight, surveying the carnage around him. “How many more
are there?”

The tall, dark knight
with the golden eyes shook his head.  “We counted at least twelve,” he sighed
heavily, gaze finding Elizabeau.  “We had hoped they had not followed us this
far but I see we were wrong.  God knows, they seem to find us every time. The
lady is in astounding danger, David. We must remove her immediately.”

David nodded, looking at
the rather pale lady beside him and remembering his manners. “Edward, this is
the Lady Elizabeau Treveighan,” he said. “I do not believe you have been
formally introduced yet. My lady, this is Sir Edward de Wolfe. He serves my
brother.”

Elizabeau nodded at Edward
as the knight bowed gallantly.  She was, in fact, feeling the least bit queasy,
both with fear and with the gore surrounding her. But in spite of her shock,
she noticed that David was struggling with the arrow in shoulder and she gently
suggested that he sit so that they could remove the arrow.  He refused, twice,
until Edward finally forced him to sit.   While Elizabeau gingerly held on to
him, Edward yanked the arrow from the man’s shoulder.

Edward tossed the arrow
to the floor as he examined the wound; it was clean and not too terribly deep. 
David didn’t seem to think anything of it and was demanding to find his brother
to help in the hunt for more enemy soldiers.  Edward, a calm man with a
diplomatic air about him, refused to let the man rise and just as Elizabeau was
sure they were going to enter into a physical confrontation, the earl, Rhys and
another knight returned to the common room.

Elizabeau realized, very
quickly, that she was happy and relieved to see Rhys. He appeared unharmed in
spite of the vicious sword battle she had witnessed. His gaze fell on her as he
moved towards her.

“Are you all right?” he
asked quietly.  “You weren’t injured in any way?”

She shook her head,
resisting the urge to smile at him. “I am well,” she gestured at David, still
sitting on the chair next to her.  “But Sir David was injured. Sir Edward
removed the arrow.”

Rhys peered more closely
at David, attempting to gain a look at his wound, but David waved him off. “A
scratch,” he declared irritably. “A tickle, in fact.  But this old woman will
not let me go about my business.”

He was referring to
Edward, who merely lifted an eyebrow at him.  “It needs to be sutured,” he
said.

“Bah,” David stood up,
hand over the wound as he timidly rotated the shoulder. “It is well enough.
I’ll live.”

While David and Edward
bickered, the earl moved to Elizabeau and Rhys.  She could see by the look on
his face that he was a man with a good deal on his mind.

“I suppose our most
recent clash has indicated that John’s spies have located you once again,” he
said quietly. 

“Do you know that for
sure, my lord?” Rhys asked.

“There can be no other
alterative. Who else would have taken a shot at her?”

Rhys shrugged. “There
are those who believe I am a wealthy baron. It could be robbers.” He looked
around. “I see that our merchant friend has vanished. Perhaps he is behind the
attack.”

Christopher lifted an
eyebrow in thought. “It is possible, but we cannot take that chance. You will
leave at once, ride south, then change direction and ride back north and west
into Wales. Take refuge at your mother’s home without further delay. No more
inns, no stopping. You must ride hard for safety. I will meet you when I can,
either at your mother’s home or at Ogmore.”

Rhys was well aware that
it would be a difficult trip for the lady.  His mother’s home was at least four
days away, and that was at a normal rate of travel.  What the earl was asking
him to do would tax the heartiest of men.  Yet they had no choice.

“Aye, my lord,” he
replied, taking the lady’s elbow. “I shall not fail.”

The earl clapped a big
hand on Rhys’ shoulder but his eyes were fixed on Elizabeau.  He regarded her
carefully.

 “You have done well so
far, my lady,” he said quietly.  “Pray continue to listen to Rhys and to do
what he tells you.  He will keep you safe.”

Elizabeau merely nodded,
unsure what to say to him. She was coming to feel increasingly guilty that all
of these men were risking her life for her. She was a reluctant heiress at
best; now she was wondering if she was worthy of this devotion.  Before she
could formulate a proper response, Rhys gently guided her back to their
unturned table and collected the satchel with her new things.  

In silence, he picked up
the bag, made sure her cloak was fastened snuggly, and escorted her back to the
door.  Elizabeau kept watching his face, trying not to look him in the eye but
wanting to just the same.  Seeing him fight had been a revealing experience and
oddly impressed her.  Now she was coming to understand more about the man and
remaining objective was increasingly difficult. He was an escort and nothing
more; she had to keep reminding herself of that.

Before they went outside
into the new morning, the earl sent several men out before them to make sure
there were no assassins waiting. One of them was a broad knight with pale blue
eyes and white-blond hair by the name of Lawrence de Beckett.  He had fought
side by side with Rhys and the earl throughout the melee but had remained
largely silent; Elizabeau vaguely remembered seeing him at Hyde House and she
averted her gaze when their eyes met; there was something about the man that
was intimidating, frightening even. But Lawrence paid little attention to her
as he led the earl’s men outside to scout for the enemy.  Rhys and Christopher
held Elizabeau at the door, their experienced eyes scanning the world beyond.

“My lord?”

It took Christopher a
moment to realize that Elizabeau was addressing him.  “My lady?”

She cleared her throat
softly, seemingly grasping for words. “I just… well, I want to thank you for
what you are doing,” she said after a moment. “You are risking your life for a
woman you do not know and I find that a strange and noble sacrifice.”

Christopher’s sky-blue
gaze moved over her before his bearded lips began to twitch with a hint of a
smile.  “I see much of your father in you,” he replied quietly. “And I see some
of your grandfather in you as well. But what I see the most of is your
grandmother, Eleanor.”

The gaze from her dark
green eyes was like a vortex, consuming and intense. “How is that, my lord,
when we are not even related by blood?”

He cocked his head,
reflecting back on the woman he had known for many years. “You and Eleanor both
have the same firm manner.  Have you never met Eleanor of Aquitaine?”

Elizabeau shook her head.
“Never, although I was told she was instrumental in my brother Arthur’s
capture. I do not believe she likes her grandchildren very well, and me least
of all.”

His smile broke through.
“Why would you say that?”

“Because she hated my
father.”

He lifted an eyebrow in
concession. “You must realize, of course, that she has hated nearly all of her
children and grandchildren at one time or another. I wouldn’t take it
personally.”  His amused gaze lingered on her. “She is still alive. Perhaps you
may meet her yet.”

Elizabeau snorted, a
most unladylike sound.  “I doubt that, my lord,” she said with sarcasm. “She
supports my Uncle John for the throne, so much so that she was instrumental in
the abduction of her own grandson who threatened his rein.  If anything, I should
be fearful that the woman will raise an army against me.  ‘Tis Eleanor I fear
more than Uncle John.”

Christopher laughed
softly. “A wise woman you are.  But have no fear; I have fought both for and
against her. I know her tricks.”

Elizabeau looked up at
him and, seeing that he was smiling easily, could not help but smile in return.
She felt confident with de Lohr’s mighty protection, a man who has served many
years with the Plantagenet dynasty.  He knew the players well.

One of de Lohr’s knights
returned to indicate that the area seemed to be clear. Rhys’ charger had been
brought around and he and Christopher escorted Elizabeau out into the growing
morning.  Rhys mounted and Christopher helped the lady up.  As she settled
herself on the hard armor of Rhys’ legs, de Lohr watched her carefully.  After
a moment, he spoke.

“Do not let yourself be
troubled,” he murmured. “It is the strength of your grandfather that will see
you through this. And you will need all of the strength that you can muster.”

There was something in
the way he said the words that made her heart grow cold. There was much ahead
of her; that much she knew. But she had no idea just how much strength it would
take to survive it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Monmouthshire, Wales

Eight days later, the
cold grey stones and verdant fields of Whitebrook came into view.

Rhys clutched Elizabeau
against his chest; she was sleeping the sleep of the dead.  Having been ill for
the past several days, all she did was sleep and all he did was stay awake and
try to remain alert. They had ridden as far south as Basingstoke before cutting
their way north, traversing the cold, wet lands of England in an attempt to
evade John’s assassins. The first two days into their journey, Elizabeau had
been relatively silent but compliant. By the third day, she had been sneezing
and sniffling ,enough so that Rhys diverted from his orders and found them a
warm stable to spend the night in. She had slept on the straw, breathing
heavily and shivering, before waking in the morning with a fever and sore
throat.

Rhys was concerned and
although he knew they should remain where they were so she could recover
somewhat, his instincts and his orders told him to keep going.  He had to get
the lady to safety and any manner of delay, no matter what the reason, could
mean trouble.  So he had bundled the lady up in her bleached woolen cloak with
the rabbit lining, stolen a heavy horse blanket and wrapped her up tightly in
it, and continued with their journey. He had to make it to his mother’s manor
as soon as possible; the lady’s illness simply added another element of
urgency.

As the lush valley of
the Wye River came into view and his mother’s stone manor of Whitebook in the
distance, Rhys felt a distinct sense of relief.  He knew his mother would take
very good care of the lady and he was eager to get her into a decent bed and
warm shelter. In spite of her illness, she had never mentioned a word of
complaint and that both impressed him and caused him extreme guilt. He almost
would have felt better had she complained the entire way; it would have caused
him aggravation that he could have rationalized. But a silent, enduring ward
caused him waves of remorse because he knew she was enduring far more than she
should have. Elizabeau was, if nothing else, proving herself to be a strong
woman.

The road upon which they
had been riding descended into a valley that had seen a good deal of rain the
past few months. But today was relatively sunny and the vibrant green was all
around them. It was mid-morning and the birds were out in force, flying over
head and chattering loudly. A family of rabbits scurried across the road,
causing his exhausted charger to start. Rhys clucked to the horse, soothing him
as they continued along their way, as Elizabeau suddenly awoke in his arms.

His first indication
that she was lucid was when she groaned slightly. The second was when she sat
bolt upright and smacked him in the chin.  He grunted as she gasped.

“God’s Bones,” she said
hoarsely, peering at his chin where she hit it. “Are you all right? I did not
mean to strike you.”

He rubbed his chin and
flexed his jaw. “No harm done,” he said, then pointed in front of them. “Look;
we have finally arrived. Welcome to Whitebrook, my lady.”

Elizabeau turned around,
her gaze searching out the green valley before her. But then a sneeze overtook
her and she covered her nose with the kerchief that had been her closest
companion for days. She had sneezed and coughed innumerable times into the soft
linen fabric.  Her nose was red because of it.

“’Tis lovely,” she
sniffled, feeling weak and achy and collapsing back against him. “And thank God
for it.”

He smiled faintly,
listening to her cough and sniffled.  “No worries, my lady. My mother will have
you well again in no time.”

She had learned over the
course of the past eight days which was the most comfortable position against
Rhys and his armor.  She shifted slightly so she was wedged against his torso
almost into his right armpit.   He let her get settled before pulling the rough
horse blanket about her and gathering her close with his right arm. 

“My mother likes to make
a fuss, so be warned,” he said, attempting to distract her from her misery.
“The woman had three boys and a daughter, and somehow my sister always seemed
to be her favorite. She coddles her as if no other girl in the world exists.”

Elizabeau sneezed into
her hand, feeling miserable and stuffy.  Though she was glad to finally have
reached their destination, she realized she was sorry that it meant she and
Rhys would no longer have time like this together.  In spite of her illness,
she had enjoyed the past several days.  Rhys had been quiet, respectful, and
humorous at times and she had come to like and respect him a great deal.