A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  "Hello?" Gareth yelled. Almost instantly, a thin young woman threw back the curtain and scurried out to meet them. "Are you a seamstress?" Gareth asked her.

  The scrawny woman bobbed her head. "Would you like me to sew something for you?" she asked in uncertain Welsh.

  "That depends on how good and how fast you are," Elena said. "Do you have any samples of your work we might investigate?"

  The woman looked worried. "Only what I am working on now. 'Tis a dress for my niece who's getting married soon."

  When the woman simply stood there, Elena prodded her. "Will you show it to us?"

  "Of course," the flustered woman said. "Please follow me." She led them through the narrow doorway and up an increasingly bright staircase. Once they reached the top, Elena realized that the cause of the illumination was a high row of windows that let light pour in on the spotlessly clean, if cluttered room. A child of about four or five sat on the floor surrounded by wooden toys. He was entertaining the inhabitant of a beautifully carved cradle. A large table against the far wall was buried under a heap of dark blue cloth. To their right was a small but tidy kitchen, a pot on the stove exuding delicious smells along with copious amounts of steam. Overall, the rooms had a cheery warmth about them that Elena had never experienced in any of the immense and richly furnished, but cold and dark chambers of the stone castles in which she had spent the last year.

  "You really should hang a sign out. We weren't sure this was the right place," Elena said.

  The woman nodded and, not meeting their eyes, said, "They've taken the last two I put out."

  "Who did?"

  "The other seamstresses. I don't think they want me on this street."

  Elena was just about to tell the woman that was ridiculous, that it was probably only prankster boys, when she finally realized what was odd about the woman's speech. "You're not Welsh, are you?"

  The woman lifted frightened eyes. "I'm sorry," she peeped.

  "Why should you be? I'm not either. Are you Scottish?"

  The seamstress nodded. "My husband was born here and he always wanted to move back, but I don't seem to fit in too well."

  "The thing I've learned about these Welsh is that you must simply force them to accept you. They can be exceedingly bullheaded sometimes but they'll back down and consider you one of their own if you're persistent enough." Elena pointedly avoided looking at Gareth for his reaction. Besides, she didn't care what he thought, what she'd said had proven true enough with him, hadn't it? "Now tell us your name and then show us your work. You may speak in English if that is easier."

  The young seamstress appeared a bit overwhelmed by Elena, but quickly stated that her name was Annie. Shaking out the blue cloth, she said, "Here is the dress I am making for my niece. I've only the hem left to finish."

  Elena handed what was left of the honeyed roll to the young boy and inspected the sleeves, the seams, and the lacings up the back. "You do excellent work. How fast could you make my dress?" Elena quickly explained the style of dress she wanted, completely forgetting Gareth's presence as she discussed the cut, the position of the waistline, and the fullness of the sleeves.

  Annie swallowed nervously. "How quickly do you need it?"

  Elena turned to Gareth. "When are we leaving?"

  Startled out of his daze, Gareth stared uncomprehendingly at Elena. She repeated her question and he said, "Three days."

  Annie's eyes bulged but she nodded. "I can do it." She quoted a price and Elena accepted, not even checking with Gareth to see if he had that much money. "Shall I measure you right now?"

  "Yes, that will be fine."

  Annie gathered her measuring string and looked uncertainly from Gareth to Elena. "And your..."

  Elena immediately understood. "My brother can occupy your son downstairs and head off your husband should he come back."

  "Oh he won't--he's a carpenter and he's working on a ship that's preparing to sail. Here Oengus," she said, picking up one of the wooden toys and handing it to her son. "Show this gentleman how this toy works downstairs." Little Oengus grabbed the wooden horse in one sticky hand and headed for the door, shouting "Come on!" over his shoulder.

  Gareth dumped the pile of cloth in Elena's outstretched arms and whispered, "Brother?"

  "It just popped into my head," she responded with a wicked smile. Gareth rolled his eyes and followed the young boy out of the room.

  Nearly an hour later, Elena left Annie who was already at work, measuring out the wool and planning to cut the many pieces. She entered the small downstairs room to discover Gareth rolling about the floor, wrestling with Oengus. The little boy squealed with delight as Gareth allowed himself to be pushed over and pinned as Oengus sat on his chest. "I won! I won!" he shouted.

  Seeing Elena, Gareth plucked the child off his chest and quickly scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with exertion, his hair tumbled about his brow, the young boy clinging to his neck and shoulders like a vine.

  "Are you finished?"

  Elena nodded, surveying his rumpled appearance with amusement. "Are you?"

  "I was just," Gareth cleared his throat. "I was just keeping young Oengus here occupied so he wouldn't disturb you."

  Elena smiled wryly. "Thank you."

  Tilting his head back so he could see Oengus's face, Gareth said, "Come, you young scalawag. Give Lady Elena a kiss goodbye."

  Elena shook her head and frowned apprehensively. "No, no. That's alright," she began, but it was too late, for Gareth was holding out the little boy who leaned forward obediently and placed a wet and sticky kiss on her cheek. Elena rubbed at her cheek with the back of her hand as the youngster wriggled to be put down and then scampered up the stairs. Gareth straightened and looked sheepishly at Elena. "I guess I'm still a boy at heart."

  Never comfortable with children of any age--even when she was one, Elena didn't know how to respond. She had spent her entire life trying to act as mature and regal as possible and the thought of wanting to be a child and romp around was foreign to her. On one hand, she thought it very silly of Gareth to roll around on the floor acting like a fool, and yet some part of her wondered what it would be like to abandon all pretensions and cares of adulthood and simply laugh until her stomach hurt, or tumble in a sweet grassy meadow, or run barefoot along the surf.

  "What would you like to do today?" Gareth asked.

  Run on the beach, play in a meadow. "It doesn't matter," she said.

  "Why don't we explore the city? Da tells me there's a shop that has books around here somewhere."

  "That would be fine.” All sense of adventure aside, however, Elena was interested in the bookseller for they were a rare and expensive commodity. Her father had indulged her literacy with many expensive books, but in Richard's court, books were not at all the thing for ladies-in-waiting. Another urge stifled, she thought, remembering those long, incredibly tedious winter nights that would have passed so pleasantly had she only had a book or two to read.

  As Gareth held the door open for her, he said, "You don't care much for children, do you?"

  "Hmm?" Elena said, still thinking of the last book she had read with its glorious illumination. That had been the most expensive book her father had ever purchased, costing more than three new court dresses. At the time, Elena hadn't been sure the book had been worth giving up the gowns, but she had managed to convince her doting father that she needed the book and the clothes, so she had been happy.

  Gareth repeated his question and she turned her attention to him. She shrugged and said, "I don't see much point in them."

  Gareth laughed. "No point except to populate the world."

  "Well, besides that, of course. I know I must have them some day, but I haven’t been around them. I was an only child, you see, and children are not kept at court."

  Gareth was silent for several seconds as they walked down the narrow street. "Elena, you know we may have created a child last night." She did not respond and continued looking in the shop windows th
ey passed on the widening street, trying to think of herself with a child. Gareth’s child.

  "Elena?"

  She stopped in front of a window in which their figures were clearly reflected in the many thick panes of glass. Elena stared at her reflection for a moment and then turned to face Gareth.

  "I'm sure we didn't."

  "How can you know." Gareth's eyes widened with embarrassment and he stammered, " I mean…”

  Turning to Gareth, she saw the concern on his face and she forced a smile. "Don't worry."

  "I'm not worried. I--" Gareth pushed his hair out of his eyes impatiently. "I just want you to know that if you were...with child, I would marry you and, well, take care of you both."

  Elena felt her heart lurch. That he would mention marriage not three hours after she envisioned him as her husband was startling. But she did not want a marriage based on obligation. She wanted him to want to marry her. Or, at least, she thought she did. She was still so confused over what exactly she did feel for this frustrating man.

  Needing to not think for a while, she dismissed his concern with a breezy, “Let’s not fill this beautiful day with worries of any sort. I want to see all the sights this quaint city has to offer." Taking his hand, she squeezed it and pulled him after her as she turned a corner and headed for the center of town, acting as if she had firmly put all thoughts of their lovemaking and subsequent conversation about it out of her head.

  ***

  For Gareth, he could not stop thinking about the subject. Now that the subject had come up, there were so many things he wanted to ask her: did she regret that it had happened? Did she feel anything at all for him, because he was fairly certain now that he loved her. Gareth wished he had Cynan's brashness when it came to blurting out whatever came to mind, but fear of what she might think of him for asking those questions, and fear of what she might answer kept him quiet. Fear! An emotion he had scorned to indulge in since he was in leading strings.

  As if they truly were brother and sister, he held her hand as she climbed up steps, answered her endless questions about Aberstwyth, and bought her food when she was hungry.

  They spent the entire day traipsing through the shops of Aberstwyth, even talking about their childhood and families, but Gareth never got over the feeling that they were avoiding the most important topic and that was their feeling toward one another. Finally, as their feet were sore and their legs weary from so much walking, they discovered the book seller's shop, only to find it had closed for the night.

  "Is that not just my luck," Elena said dejectedly as they sat on a carved log strategically placed in front of the shop.

  "We have all of tomorrow free. We'll come back and you can browse to your heart's content."

  "Really? Don't you have business to attend to? I mean, some sort of plan to work out or something."

  Gareth valiantly ignored the twinge of guilt at lying to Elena as he said, "I told you, I've decided not to join their cause, after all. I'm just returning to England, the same as you."

  "Well, I know, but don't you have to convince everyone here that you won't betray their intents?"

  "No," Gareth said, more sharply than he had intended. "They know that whatever my feelings, I won't betray their lives. With or without a few Welshmen, Henry and Richard will come to battle. All I can do is return to my king and offer what service I can."

  They sat quietly for minutes, each absorbed in his thoughts, Gareth suffering under the burden of deceit; deceiving Elena now and deceiving Richard's entire court upon returning to England. With a humorless grimace, Gareth reflected on his perpetual guilt. Just a few weeks ago, he was suffering at the thought of abandoning his knightly vows to his king, despite his awareness that Richard was not the sovereign he should be. Then when Elena nearly died trying to reach them, he suffered overwhelming guilt that he had dragged her into their messy plans. And don't forget, Gareth reminded himself, how guilty you felt when you first turned Lord Stanley down for this distasteful task. Gareth sighed and adjusted the chip on his shoulder. Elena thankfully distracted him from further gruesome thoughts.

  "Are you certain there will be a war?"

  Gareth shrugged. "There will at least be a battle."

  Elena nodded, watching Gareth closely. "Will you fight in it?"

  Her question made Gareth's stomach clench. Of course he would fight in it, but how would he fight for his side? Go along with Richard's troops and then start massacring them from behind? It may be effective for a moment or two, but he would quickly be hacked to pieces. Not that he was afraid of dying, simply that he did not relish the idea of rushing to death's cold embrace without first kicking and screaming.

  "Will you?" Elena's strained voice finally registered on Gareth and he realized that she was worried. For him? Did she not want him to die?"

  "Undoubtedly. Does that bother you?"

  Elena frowned and hesitated before answering. "Well of course it bothers me. I...I don't have any black clothes to wear for your funeral and I won't dye my new houppeland just so I can pay my respects."

  "Hoope--land? What in the living world is that?"

  "Not hoopey, houppe. A houppeland. That's what my new dress will be."

  "What is it?"

  Elena laughed at his apparently stupid question. "It's just a style--high waist, full skirt, big sleeves. Started in Germany, I believe. Surely you've seen them on ladies at court. Men too, actually."

  Gareth looked at her in horror, hoping this was not a style knights would be required to wear. "Men are wearing houppelands?"

  "Of course. Although not as full, and sometimes quiet short."

  Gareth longed for his childhood in Wales where a rough tunic and comfortably worn leggings got him through year after year. "Who invents these ridiculous fashions?" Gareth asked peevishly, imagining himself trussed up in velvet, scarcely able to breath for a tight collar, sitting through an interminably long court.

  "I don't know. The loomsmen, I suppose. It seems each new fashion requires more cloth than the last. There no doubt will be a day when it will require fifteen lengths to make a decent gown."

  Gareth thought of the money he had spent on eight lengths of wool and fervently prayed that he never had daughters.

  Elena stood and stretched. "Well, Sir Gareth, either we return to our temporary abode or you will be forced to buy me one of those lamb sticks from the square."

  Gareth stood also, realizing that the sun was hovering just above the horizon. "Da said he was arranging for the evening meal tonight, so we'd best be heading back."

  "Your father cooks?" Elena asked, incredulous.

  "He cooks about as much as I do."

  Elena wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't mean we're having that horrid dried beef, does it?"

  Gareth laughed. "I think Da meant he was arranging for someone to cook food for us. I'm sure he's sparing us from dried beef since that's what all we'll be eating in a few days."

  Elena moaned as Gareth took her hand and led her up the street. "Isn't there anything else you can take on a journey to eat besides dried beef? That stuff has no taste and is the consistency of worn boot leather."

  "So you've told me every time we've eaten it. I'll see if Samuel has anything else we can take when we leave, but don't get your hopes up. Whatever we take has to last a good week without spoiling."

  "Let's hurry home then," Elena said, picking up her pace. "I intend to gorge myself on edible food just in case dried beef is all we have for the next week."

  Gareth laughed and allowed her to pull him along, content for the moment to concentrate solely on the feel of her hand in his, her smile as she turned her head to urge him along, and her wind-tousseled hair.

  They reached Samuel's shop as the sun was slipping into the ocean, just visible in the distance from his doorstep. Gareth paused to watch it flatten and slowly sink, feeling the last rays warm his face with a golden glow possible only at this time of night. As soon as the uppermost edge had slipped away, the evening t
ook on a cool blue light that was somehow suddenly quiet and peaceful. Closing his eyes, Gareth inhaled deeply, forgetting his burdens and absorbing all the peace of the moment. Elena was going to miss real food for a week, but he was afraid he was going to miss this feeling of utter peace for a great deal longer. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the first star of the evening twinkle above him. "Please be a good omen," he whispered before following Elena into the warm house.

  Chapter 18

  Elena lay awake for several hours, waiting for Gareth to join her. She had no doubt he would, after the previous night and the whole day spent pleasurably in each other's company. To pass the time until he came, Elena thought of her new dress, wishing she had her mother's garnet necklace to wear with it once it was finished. When she had exhausted every seam and hem on that topic, she went over all the sights she and Gareth had seen today, noting their differences from the shops she had seen in London, or one of the smaller towns and villages throughout England she had visited as a lady-in-waiting. She wondered what kind of books the bookseller would have and if Gareth possibly had enough money to purchase one for her. Probably not, she thought, only slightly disappointed. What with fabric, and hiring the seamstress, that alone was probably enough to wipe out a new knight's means.

  Elena yawned. Did knights earn any money? She suspected very little. They, like ladies-in-waiting basically lived at the expense of the king in exchange for their services. I wonder how Gareth is expected to attract a wife if he has no means of supporting her, she wondered as she snuggled deeper under the covers. Of course, there was that cozy little keep, nestled in those harshly beautiful mountains. She wouldn't mind living there…she refused to examine that rampant thought and instead allowed her mind to replay the events of the previous night. Once she had decided what she was going to do, she had suffered no apprehension, no qualms. And in his embrace, she had found no discomfort or embarrassment. Gareth's warm hands and drugging kisses had made her feel worshipped. She had never felt so vitally alive as she had during their lovemaking. And Gareth had lost any boyish awkwardness and had expertly wrung from her such pleasures as she had never anticipated. And was there a more deliciously comfortable way to sleep than nestled in his arms, her back pressed to his chest, their legs tangling, his arms cushioning her head and wrapping snugly around her waist? She seriously doubted it. Turning on her side, Elena imagined Gareth was pressed up against her. With a deep sigh, she felt her body relaxing languorously, preparing itself for Gareth's attentions.