"Maybe that's because he knows he doesn't belong there." Gareth said.
"His claim is a strong as any others. I think he's just nervous by nature. He's always fiddling with his dagger or his cuffs. Always smoothing his hair. It's too bad his wife died. She always had a calming influence on him." Elena bent to pick up a shell. "If it hadn't been for Anne, I don't think Richard would have ever succeeded in his bid for the throne."
"Perhaps that would have been for the best." Gareth felt as if he were walking on the rocky beach barefooted, so carefully was he trying to tread.
"Why? One man on the throne is as good as another. There is really very little difference between kings."
"How can you say that?" Gareth burst out.
Elena laughed at the outraged look on his face. "Come now, Gareth. How is Richard really any different from all of the previous kings?"
"Well, he ignores the rest of England while he lavishes attention and money on the northern part of the country where his cronies live."
"And that is worse than Henry VI's lunacy or his father's outrageous justifications for laying siege on France?"
Gareth paused, all thought of his original purpose forgotten for the moment. "Elena, how old are you?"
"What? That is not a very chivalrous question to ask, Sir Knight."
"Twenty?" he guessed.
"I think not," Elena answered indignantly. "I am barely nineteen."
"All in all, that's not very old."
"Why thank you," Elena said drolly.
"No, what I mean is, that is awfully young to be so cynical about the world and it's leaders."
In the pale moonlight, Gareth could see Elena frown, the creases in her forehead the only flaw in her otherwise perfect face. "I don't think of myself as cynical," she responded slowly.
"'One man on the throne or another, there really is no difference between them' isn't cynical?"
"I'm not a cynic. I'm a pragmatist. I merely like to look at situations realistically so I can benefit the most from them. Now before you give me your holier-than-thou lecture, let me remind you that women do not carry a tremendous amount of clout in this world. The most we can hope for out of life is to marry a husband of means who will keep us from starving and provide shelter and clothing. If he does not beat us, we are considered most fortunate. Can you honestly disagree with me?"
"Yes. In Wales--" Gareth began.
"I don't live in Wales, I live in England. Now answer me. Is there a better life for women in England than what I just mentioned?"
Gareth frowned and shook his head. "No, I suppose not."
"Very well. Now, given those circumstances, I don't think you can accuse me of being cynical merely because I try to better my life as I can. King Richard has provided me with many luxuries for very little work in return. My mother had already given birth to two stillborn children and was locked away in my father's manor; completely cut off from the social life she loved by the time she was my age. Can you blame me for wanting something different and doing what I can to get it?"
Gareth felt deflated. "Of course not." Although everything she had said was true, he was disappointed. Disappointed because when they returned to England they would see no more of each other. They would not meet to exchange information, they would not await Henry Tudor's landing and word of the location of the battle, they would not be able to walk along the beaches of southern England. He would not be able to admire the creamy perfection of her skin by moonlight. Once they returned to Richard's court, she would return to her life as a lady-in-waiting and he would be nothing more than a spy trying to sneak information about his sovereign to the enemy. There was no way he could expect her to help him and Henry Tudor, not when it would mean she would lose her position in court, not when it would mean she would lose everything she had worked for, even if he, Gareth, could not understand the appeal of formal feasts and overdressed courtiers. Once Henry took the throne, everyone in Richard's court would be dispensed with. Ladies-in-waiting would be sent back to their parents or the convent they had come from, for surely Henry Tudor would install new ones once he wed. Elena, like her mother, would be cut off from the social life she loved.
"We'd best head back. It's getting late," he said, his voice flat.
Turning, he began walking quickly up the beach to the cobbled street. Elena tried to match his rapid strides, but could not in the gravelly sand. Running lightly to catch up to him, she linked her hand through his arm to slow him down. "Where are we sleeping tonight?" she asked.
Gareth did not hear Elena's question until she squeezed his arm and asked him again. He realized then that she was clinging to his arm and slowed his pace accordingly. "Samuel, the man whose shop we were in earlier will put us up tonight."
"You mean we get to sleep inside? And perhaps have warm water to wash in and clean linen to sleep on?"
Despite his disappointment, Gareth smiled at her tone and her questions. "Yes, my lady, you will have all the finest luxury Aberystwyth has to offer." Trying not to think of how much he would miss their bantering once they reached Richard's court, he guided them back to the center of town.
***
As they walked the moonlit streets back to Samuel's shop and home, Elena couldn't help but wonder if she had said something to anger Gareth. Although he answered any question she asked about this street or that shop, he seemed to forget her existence once he responded. For a woman who was used to being the center of a man's attention--especially if he was lucky enough to be taking a moonlit stroll with her--Gareth's distraction bothered her. Of course, she reminded herself, this is Gareth, the man who could kiss her like she'd never been kissed one night and then throw himself at a coarse serving wench the next. This was the man who had nearly...well, nearly made love to her, and then treated her as nothing more than one of his rough traveling companions. Her life in Richard's court had taught her much about men and their moods, but Gareth belied all she knew. None of her carefully devised "wiles" had worked on him, yet when she least expected it, and was least prepared for it, he would kiss her, with tenderness, or with soul-scorching passion that left her gasping for breath. Gareth seemed most responsive to her when she was completely unconscious of what she was doing or saying. On the other hand, when she acted like a proper lady of the court, he always seemed to grow distant.
So why should he be sullen now? she asked herself. Hadn't she just tossed over every dignity by climbing onto that stump and playing tug-of-war until she was as sweaty as a horse? Elena gazed up at the stars, wishing she could read their supposed messages. Would she never understand this man?
Gareth tugged on her arm, startling her. She hadn't realized she had stopped when she was studying the stars.
"We're almost there," he said politely as she ran lightly to match his quickening pace.
When they reached the shop, it, like every other shop on the street, was dark.
"Have they forgotten us?" Elena asked worriedly. She did not want to sleep outside one more night, especially when their blankets, which offered meager comfort, were inside!
"No, I'm sure someone is awake in the back rooms," Gareth assured as he knocked on the door, although Elena didn't think he sounded very convinced.
Gareth tried the handle, but it was locked. He knocked again more loudly, but there was still no answer. He was just about to pound on the door when it swung open.
The sleepy countenance of Samuel greeted them, with voluminous white night shirt billowing, and nightcap askew. He was holding a candle up to inspect their faces. "Saints preserve us, young man, have you no consideration for the hours of an honest working man?" he asked as he opened the door wider for them to enter.
"I'm sorry, Samuel. We were in the market and we lost all track of time," Gareth apologized.
"Humph," Samuel replied as he led them through the shop and down the hall. He stopped in the middle of the hall and opened a door Elena had not even noticed earlier. "The lady may sleep in here. It's not large, but it is clean and comforta
ble. You, impertinent boy, are upstairs with all of the other men, on the floor." He placed the candle down and disappeared down the hall. Gareth stepped forward and gestured Elena into the room.
As she walked through the doorway, Elena judged that Samuel had been generous when he said the room was not large. It was more of a closet, with a low bed pushed into one corner and just enough room left for a small table. He was accurate on the clean and comfortable part, however, Elena thought. There was not a speck of dust to be seen and the bed was made up with a bright quilt and a small pillow. There was even an ewer of water on the table.
"Do you need aught else?"
For some reason, his question made Elena think of Gareth's passionate kisses. Hastily dismissing that thought from her mind, she said, "No. This should do." She felt like she should say something else, something to make the lighthearted Gareth of earlier this evening return, but she could think of nothing.
Gareth bade her good night and gently closed the door.
The door swayed open slightly after Gareth left and Elena tried to pull it closed again, but there was no latch to keep it tight. Elena shook her head. At least everyone was already asleep. Turning, she began struggling out of her worn and travel-stained gown. She pulled the faded cotehardie over her head, laying it on the foot of the bed and then leaned over to pull off her boots. Pulling off her chemise, she glanced in the pitcher of water. Thank heavens it was full. There was nothing she wanted more than to wash the sweat and dust of travel off her skin. The water was cool and refreshing. She had just put her chemise back on when she heard a light knock on the door.
Elena whirled around at the noise, clutching her gown to her breast, as the door swung open. A red-faced Gareth met her gaze.
"I--I'm sorry, Elena, I knocked, but the door…"
"Yes, I couldn't get it to latch."
Gareth glanced at her thin covering before focusing on a point somewhere around her forehead. I just wanted to, uh, give you this," he said as he thrust a large bundle at her. "Da thinks we'll have enough time to have it made up before we leave."
"Have what made up?" Elena asked as she tucked her gown under her arms and began untying the cloth wrapper. A folded length of the wool she had been looking at earlier fell onto the bed. She sucked in her breath.
"I thought you would like a new dress to return to England in."
Elena looked from the cloth to Gareth who stood uncertainly just inside the doorway. How many men realized the importance of a new gown or took the time to see to its creation? Heedless of her state of undress and the impropriety of her action, Elena threw her arms around his neck. "It's wonderful! I don't know what to say."
She felt Gareth's hands slide around her waist. "How about 'thank you'?"
Though she was not used to saying the words, she laughed and said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Gareth." She sobered slightly when she realized that her arms were still around his neck and his hands were now caressing her through her thin chemise. Without quite realizing what she was doing, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his. He responded slowly, tentatively, only opening his lips when she pressed hers against them more insistently. An abstract part of Elena's brain bellowed that this was not included in the conduct befitting a noble lady, but she quickly silenced it as she concentrated on the rush of sensations that were coursing through her body.
Gareth's gentle grip on her waist was now crushing her against him. One of his hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair and cradle her head. Elena moaned softly as she gave herself over completely to his kiss, opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to explore its soft recesses. Elena felt his muscles shudder through his worn shirt as she ran her fingertips over his shoulders and up into his unruly hair. Unable to control herself, she grabbed fistfuls of his thick hair and pulled his head closer to hers so she could return his kiss.
Finally, the kiss ended and Elena buried her face weakly in Gareth's neck where she could feel his pulse race underneath her lips. His grip on her had relaxed and his hands had resumed their gentle caress up and down her back. Despite the excitement of their kiss, Elena could not help but wish she could just go to sleep, here in his arms, so comfortable was she. As she relaxed still further against him, her mind wandered to the cloth he had bought her and his promise of a new dress. Suddenly, she remembered the rest of his words and she straightened.
"Did you say we were returning to England?"
Gareth's face was still flushed, but his eyes were now wary as he slowly nodded. "Aye, in a few days."
"What about the meeting today? Did you get everything worked out?"
Gareth paused before he answered. "Not quite. You see, I," he paused to clear his throat. "I'm not convinced that this whole thing is going to work."
"What? What do you mean?" Elena was thoroughly confused. Had they chased over half of Britain for naught?
"I don't think Henry Tudor will be successful. Actually, I don't think he's even going to try to land in Wales."
"Then this whole trip was a waste?"
Gareth looked decidedly uncomfortable. "No, of course not. I learned some valuable information that helped me decide that the best thing for me to do it return to Richard's court and act like nothing untoward occurred here in Wales."
Elena stared at Gareth, amazed. "What kind of information?"
Dropping his hands from her waist, he pushed past her and sat on the bed. "I'm much too tired to go into now. Besides, I thought you'd be happy to be returning to court. Especially in a new dress."
Elena looked at Gareth skeptically. She was no hen wit who did not understand politics. True, she had little interest in them, but she knew that for Gareth to suddenly change his mind--and his allegiance--must mean that something serious had occurred. Studying his face, she forbore from questioning him further. He did look tired, weary even, as he slouched against the wall.
Unmindful of her scant attire, Elena sat next to him on the bed, deciding to drop the subject for the time being. "What made you choose this color of fabric?" she asked, smoothing the pile of wool.
"I thought it would flatter your complexion and hair coloring. Is it all right? Do you like it?"
"Truthfully?" she asked with a smile.
Gareth frowned. "You hate it?"
Elena laughed. "Truthfully, I was admiring this exact color only this morning, wishing I could make a new dress out of it." She laughed again as relief crossed his face and without thought; she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Thank you, Gareth." Her gaze trapped by his, she remained in her bent over position. Slowly, he raised his hand and caressed her cheek with his calloused fingertips.
"No, Elena, thank you."
"For what?" she whispered, confused.
Gareth shook his head and drew her down on top of him, kissing her slowly, endlessly. When he pulled back, he brushed the hair off her face and smoothed it down her back. "I have a favor to ask of you," he said.
Elena raised her eyebrows in question.
"Once we return to England, I would rather Richard not know I ever had thoughts of joining Henry Tudor's fight. I feel guilty enough knowing I have broken my knightly vows these past weeks. If I had to face Richard, I would lose his trust, not to mention my life."
Elena nodded, the thought of Gareth dying over a simple misunderstanding creasing her brow with worry and fear. "Of course. Richard need not know anything that has gone on these weeks since we were separated from his ranks."
"Thank you," Gareth said softly, seemingly relieved. And yet, Elena could tell he was still greatly bothered by something.
"Are you sure this is the right decision, Gareth?"
He stared at the flame of the candle on the small table, studying its flicker before answering. "It's what I must do."
It's what he must do, Elena thought as she followed his gaze to the hypnotic flame. How cryptic he could be. She thought of returning to England and court life. How she had longed for the luxury and beauty, how--Elena paused in
mid-thought. Returning to England meant returning to her fiancé, the Earl of Brackley. Sweet Jesu, she had near forgotten about the horrid man these past few weeks. How would she face him and their forthcoming marriage? Well, she told herself firmly, she would simply have to convince King Richard to call off the marriage. She was one of his favorite ladies-in-waiting and she had served him diligently. Still, a nagging doubt whispered. Suppose the earl has offered him something Richard needs. Monarchs were forever searching for more money, more troops, more promises of support. What if she could not convince the king? What if he forced her to marry that corpulent ogre? Elena shivered and turned back to Gareth. His face was hidden in half-shadows, the meager light sculpting his face, masking all hints of the boyishness she had seen earlier this evening in harsh lines. And yet, she still found him incredibly appealing. There was an intensity about him that radiated strength and ability. He was even more handsome than she had thought. The bald pate and bushy brows of her intended flashed before her eyes. Was she doomed to living her life with an ugly old man, not knowing the joys of love in a young man's strong arms, the sweetness of passion she so often heard of in minstrel's songs?
Without a thought to the consequences, she made her decision. She would know love, she would know it this very night, and be damned with her fiancée!
Her decision made, Elena was suddenly overcome with an unfamiliar sensation: shyness. How should she approach Gareth? What should she say? What if he were to refuse? Deciding to simply follow her instincts, she gently grasped Gareth's chin in her hand and turned it toward her.
"I should go," he began. "You must be exhausted."
Her heart pounding, Elena leaned slowly toward Gareth. She stared at the light bristling of stubble that covered his chin and upper lip. Unlike his dark hair, his beard had gold and copper highlights that glistened in the glow of the candle. As she drew nearer, she caught his faint scent and inhaled deeply. Sweat, leather, the outdoors, and something deliciously musky and spicy that she sensed was just him: these were the smells that she had grown to associate with all that was masculine and attractive in the past weeks.
A Dishonorable Knight Page 19
