A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  Elena smiled at the woman and followed her up the staircase. "Is this your first time in Wales?" Enid asked.

  "I used to visit Newport with my parents when I was younger."

  "Och, south Wales is like a whole different country. I'm sure you'll like it much more up here! But tell me, how did you come to be traveling with the boys?"

  Elena hesitated. Morgan had spoken to Enid familiarly, yet he had asked her to wait on Elena. Was she a servant or wasn't she? She certainly wasn't going to gossip with a serving woman, and yet she was Cynan's wife...The Welsh were a most disconcerting people, Elena thought. Without quite knowing why, Elena found herself telling Enid the entire story of their journey since leaving Middleham, even about Lady Elizabeth's flight. When the story was finished, the women chatted about English and Welsh beauty secrets as Elena bathed in a large wooden tub. Enid built a small fire for Elena to sit in front of while she dried and combed her long hair. When she was dressed in a clean kirtle, Enid made her sit while she wove her hair into an intricate knot. As Enid rambled on about everything from how she came to marry Cynan to Gareth's boyhood foibles, Elena wondered at the ease and enjoyment she felt at Enid's company. She never spoke so casually to the women in Richard's court--not even Catherine and Margaret. Remembering Marared, Bryant's cousin, Elena wondered what was so different about these Welsh women that made them so likable.

  "That gown suits your coloring just so," said Enid when they were done. Elena rubbed her hands over the soft linen. It was a rich shade of cinnamon and as beautifully made as any she owned.

  "My thanks for lending it to me," Elena said.

  "Now, let's get you something to eat before you faint."

  ***

  Gareth was sitting next to his father at the head table enjoying his second mug of honey mead when his eyes alighted on Elena as she descended the steps into the main hall. As she paused to glance around the crowded room, he was reminded of the first time he saw her, less than a month before. She'd been wearing velvet, he remembered, and he had been sure she wouldn't deign to speak to him. Taking a large gulp of mead, he mumbled to himself, "And she didn't!" In fact, she was rude and self absorbed. Well, she was still both of those, but perhaps tonight with no kings or earls about, she'd be more inclined to dance with him than she had that first night.

  Enid guided Elena to a seat at the end of the head table, next to Bryant. Calling to one of the serving girls, she handed her Elena's empty plate and clapped her hands to make the girl hurry. Before long, Elena was stuffing herself on fish, lamb, and rough bread spread thick with butter and honey. As her hunger began to abate, Elena started listening to the conversation of the men at the table. Her command of the Welsh language was still a little rusty, but the words she did grasp told her that they were speaking of King Richard and Henry Tudor. Not again, she silently moaned. Although she and Gareth had argued heatedly over the politics of Lancaster and York--Gareth was the first man who had ever condescended to discuss politics with her-- she was heartily sick of the whole subject. Tonight she wanted to relax and enjoy the comforts of a lord's manor, even a small one such as this.

  "Is something wrong, my lady?" Bryant asked politely.

  "What?"

  "You sighed rather mournfully. Is the food not to your liking?"

  "It's quite good. Of course, sticks and mud would have tasted good after that horse hide you fed me this fortnight past," she said with a rueful smile. "Actually, I was hoping for some lighter entertainment than another discussion of political intrigue."

  "Did I hear a call for lighter entertainment?" Cynan broke in. "Gareth! Show some manners for once and ask the Lady Elena to dance. She grows weary of this dull chatter." Turning to Morgan, he asked, "May I call for the musicians, sir?"

  "Indeed," Morgan replied with an amused smile.

  "Wake up you lazy beggars," he bellowed across the hall. "I've not seen my wife in months and I mean to dance with her right now."

  Those who played instruments good-naturedly scurried to tune them while others broke down the trestle tables to make room for dancing. Cynan stalked down the reluctant Enid and dragged her to the newly created dance floor.

  "A rousing tune, lads, with lots of spins and turns!"

  As the musicians began playing, Gareth rose and approached Elena. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" he asked politely.

  Elena glanced up in surprise; she'd been watching the dancers. Though she had seen that he had bathed and changed when she entered the hall for dinner, she only now noticed how handsome he looked. His face was freshly shaven and the ornery lock of hair temporarily smoothed out of his face. His green wool jerkin flattered the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Elena did not allow herself to scrutinize too closely his snug woolen hose that clung to his muscular legs. "I'm rather tired. I think I'll sit this one out."

  Gareth raised an eyebrow, his hand still extended to accept hers. "This is no king's court, my lady. There are no earls or earls to impress. In fact, I'm the only knight among the lot of us. Wouldn't you just like to dance and have fun for once?"

  Elena thought for less than a second. "Yes, I believe I would."

  Dancing had heretofore been a means of flirting to Elena. She had used it to show off her grace and poise: to allow her suitor his fill of gazing at her. Now as Gareth whirled her effortlessly about the room, she laughed with delight, enjoying the quickening music, the swirling skirts, her partner's firm grip on her hands and waist. When the dance ended and Gareth made to escort her back to her chair, she refused, making him dance again and again. When he finally begged off claiming his still-healing leg was sore, Elena forgot all manners of modesty and asked Bryant to dance. Bryant flushed beet red, but obligingly danced two more songs with her.

  "Quite a spirited girl, there," Morgan noted to Gareth. "Are you sure you didn't bring her home for other reasons? There were, after all at least four abbeys between Nottingham and here."

  "Would that I had known of them," Gareth said, his eyes never leaving Elena, who was with her fourth dance partner. "She was not so biddable on the road as she is on the dance floor."

  Morgan glanced sideways at his son who was still watching the young woman. "And were you as biddable as you would have had her been?"

  Gareth finally looked at his father. "Perhaps not," he said with a grin. Turning back to the dancers, he saw Elena making her way back to the table. Pouring her a goblet of wine, he handed it to her as she sat down.

  "My thanks," she said breathlessly.

  "I'm amazed you have energy enough for so much dancing after our long journey."

  "But this is so much more fun than English court dancing! Bryant said they were country dances...."

  Elena continued talking animatedly about the dancing, but Gareth was distracted by the high color in her cheeks and the tendrils of chestnut hair that had escaped her intricate coiffure. Her warm brown eyes and creamy complexion gave off a golden glow in the fire and torchlight. When Elena paused to take a draught of wine, the droplet left on her lip, which she dabbed away with her finger, mesmerized him. As he leaned closer to her, he caught the scent of cloves, his whole being caught in the web of her beauty and spirit.

  "Don't you agree?" she asked, turning her wide eyes toward him.

  "Of course," he murmured, suddenly catching himself and shaking his head to clear it of its delusions.

  ***

  Elena sucked in a breath at the slumberous look in Gareth's eyes. She was well practiced at knowing when a man was staring at her and she knew Gareth had watched her dance the last quarter hour. She had been absurdly pleased by that fact. But now as she stared back at him, all thoughts of coquetry and flirtation, in which she was so well versed, evaporated and all she could remember was the way his lips felt as they had explored hers. When Gareth shook his head and leaned back, Elena felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her head. Was he telling her that he would not deign to kiss her again? Telling her that, no, he did not
find her as attractive as she seemed to find him? Angry with herself for romanticizing this crude Welshman and furious with him for stirring up these emotions, Elena stood and said coolly, "I believe I will retire now."

  Chapter 8

  Elena avoided Gareth as much as possible over the next few days and Elena passed much of her time with Cynan's wife, Enid, discussing everything from mundane matters to her dreaded fiancee. As she talked with Enid, she discovered that more and more of the Welsh she had learned as a child came back to her.

  "I am amazed how quickly you've learned our language," Enid said ten days after Elena and Gareth had arrived at Eyri Keep.

  Elena laughed and put down her embroidery. "I told you, I used to visit south Wales with my parents every summer when I was a child."

  "I know, but 'twas a long time ago. Surely you could not remember all you learned. Most English--" Enid laughed--"and Normans and French, and everyone else, think that Welsh is a horribly complicated language to learn and complain most bitterly about it. They say they cannot keep straight our pronunciations or words."

  "'Tis no different than keeping household lines straight, I think. For some reason I can keep straight the lineages of most royal families. I just see this neat order in my mind of who married whom and the children they had. 'Tis the same for me for languages. I just seem to see the language in my mind. It becomes quite easy after that."

  "You can read, then, can you?"

  "I can. As an only child I quickly found I could bend my father's will to nearly anything I wanted. I decided I wanted to learn to read when I was six and he was unable to refuse."

  "'Tis amazing. I think Cynan would give me most anything I asked, but he would draw the line at teaching me things like reading or politics." Over Elena's shoulder, Enid saw Gareth enter the room.

  "I suppose I am a bit spoiled as a result of my father's indulgence," Elena explained, unaware anyone but Enid was listening, "but what else have women to look forward to? I'll not accept being told what to do and where to go. If that makes me spoiled and spiteful, so be it," she finished with a shrug.

  "Don't let Earl Brackley, hear you talking so," said Gareth with a laugh as he crossed the room and leaned against the empty fireplace. "He'll be calling off the wedding if he finds out you're not as sweet and biddable as you look. He'll--" Gareth froze at Elena’s expression. It had been days since she’d thought of the crude earl…her fiancée. Caught off guard as she was, she was unable to school her features into careful nonchalance and she felt her eyes widen, physically felt the blood drain from her cheeks. As she stared at Gareth, she saw him chew his upper lip, watched his brows draw together as he realized that his teasing comment had been a terrible reminder. He glanced to Enid for help, but she was glaring at him, undoubtedly cursing him for his stupidity. Despite the jolt his words had caused her, Elena felt a small smile curve her lips at Enid’s scowl and Gareth’s obvious worry. Clearly hoping to distract Elena from his faux pas, he said, "I've come to ask if you ladies would care to go for a ride. 'Tis a beautiful day and the mountains are full of wild flowers."

  "I've got to finish this tunic before Morgan travels to Aberystwyth next week. But do take Elena. 'Tis not right that we work our guest so. Look at the beautiful stitching she has done on the cuffs."

  Gareth complimented Elena's handiwork as he took her limp hand in his and pulled her to her feet. "You could definitely use some fresh air," he said.

  Once they were outside on horses, Elena turned to Gareth and said, "I must get back to England as soon as possible. I cannot marry that man! I have to convince King Richard of that fact. But everyday I am away from court is one more day preparations will be made!"

  "Perhaps you should stay away from Richard's court indefinitely. He's had no word from you since the attack on the journey to Nottingham. Perhaps he'll think you're dead and the fat earl will marry someone else."

  "And what will I do instead? Live in an isolated Welsh keep wearing borrowed gowns? I think not."

  "There are worse things that could happen," Gareth said tightly, refusing to meet her gaze.

  "No, I must return to Richard's court."

  "If there is a court to return to," Gareth said in Welsh.

  "Why would there not be?" Elena asked, also in Welsh.

  "Since when do you speak our language?"

  "Since I was a child. Enid has been refreshing my memory."

  “Did you not think it something you should mention before now?”

  Gareth gnawed his upper lip and Elena knew he thought of all the conversations Elena had heard at dinner between he and his father concerning Henry Tudor.

  “I only remembered a few words until Enid and I began talking. It didn’t seem important,” she lied, though she was not sure why.

  Suddenly loathe to turn his thoughts to worrisome matters of state on such a beautiful day, she cast about for a topic that might distract him.

  "What of your mother?" she asked.

  "My mother?"

  "Yes. Where is she?"

  "She died giving birth to me."

  Elena frowned. That news was given to expectant fathers near as much as "'Tis a healthy boy," or "You've a beautiful girl."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "'Twas quite a while ago. I've had as few years to get over it,” he joked lamely.

  They did not speak for several minutes as their horses climbed to a peak overlooking the shallow valley in which Eyri Keep lay. Sheep dotted the green fields around the keep and the air was filled with the sweet smell of evergreen trees and sun-warmed grass. Though it was high summer, the tallest peaks to the north were still capped with snow as white as the clouds which dotted the crisp, brilliant blue sky. The valley below was lush with hundreds of shades of green from the palest yellow-green of the birch trees, to the blue-green of spruce and the deepest emerald of the mosses and ferns. At the mouth of the valley, rippling fields of wheat rippled in the balmy breeze that came off the foothills.

  Elena felt Gareth’s gaze on her. She turned as he asked, "What are you thinking?"

  "Wales is a strange place," she answered without thinking.

  "What do you mean?" he asked his voice sharpening in defensiveness.

  "It affects me strangely. I've never really cared about my surroundings but now I can't stand to be inside for more than a few hours. I have to come outside and just look. It's like..." Her voice faded and she shrugged. "I can't explain it."

  "We call it Cymrectod."

  Elena searched her mind for that word. "I don't know what that means."

  "It is the intense feeling all Welsh have for this land. Are you sure you have no Welsh relatives? Perhaps you are Cymraes, after all."

  "A Welshwoman? No. I am English."

  "English by birth, perhaps, but Welsh by spirit."

  "How you do talk in riddles," she said with edginess in her voice. She did in fact have a grandmother who was Welsh--the reason she and her family had visited south Wales for five summers as a child. But being Welsh was not something to boast of in Richard's court and Elena had carefully forgotten her Welsh grandmother. Nudging her horse, she led the way up the narrow path that zigzagged up the mountain. Nearly an hour later, they reached a wide plateau at the peak. Gareth dismounted and helped Elena down. He quickly removed the horses’ saddles and let them graze freely.

  "Shouldn't you tether them?" Elena asked.

  "Isrid will not go anywhere and the other horse is too timid to go anywhere alone. She will stay with Isrid."

  Elena nodded as she raised her arms over her head and stretched. The sun was warm on her face, but a cool breeze kept it from becoming hot. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths of the invigorating air. This is heavenly, she thought. I wish I could just live on this mountain and sleep outside under the stars. Elena opened her eyes and dropped her arms abruptly. Where on earth had that thought come from, she wondered. What of her comfortable chamber at Eyri Keep? What of the glittering beauty of Richard's court with
men and women alike bedecked in rich velvets and satins, jewels on every finger, entwined in ladies' hair. Music playing softly, candles glowing. Turning to watch Gareth as he climbed atop a huge boulder, she thought, perhaps my Welsh blood is awakening. The idea was vaguely disconcerting. She did not wish to examine the feeling too deeply.

  Seeking to distract herself, she called him. "Gareth?"

  Gareth smiled down at her from his perch on the boulder where he had been reveling in the peace of the day. She realized she had never called him by his given name, had, in fact, avoided calling him anything at all. "Hmm?"

  "Why do you support the Earl of Richmond's claim to England?"

  Gareth's smile faded. He jumped down from the rock and approached her.

  "Have you ever heard of Llewelyn ab Iorweth or Owain Glyn Dwr?"

  Elena frowned in concentration. "They were rebels, were they not?"

  Gareth rolled his eyes and sighed. "That is the English version of history, I am sure. They were Welsh princes who both sought to free Wales from foreign rule. Llewelyn in the early thirteenth century, Owain in the fourteenth. Since the days of the Norman Conqueror, William the Bastard, there is scarce a Welshman alive who does not dream of a free Wales."

  "What has this to do with Richmond? Surely you can't think he would give up Wales simply because you would help him gain the throne?"

  "Of course not. I said we dream of a free Wales. But besides being dreamers, we Welsh are practical. We've not the arms or soldiers to fight off England again. But since we cannot be free of England, the next best thing is to have a Welsh king on the throne. Henry Tudor is Welsh and we would have him rule us rather than Richard of York."