A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  Settling into a comfortable position on her side, she was content to watch Gareth stoke the now burning logs and open the satchel containing their food.

  Gareth worked steadily, breaking off a chunk of the heavy bread and taking his knife to the slabs of hard sausage and cheese. Standing, he fetched the boiled leather wine flask and uncorked it. Though he worked diligently preparing their dinner, feeding the horses, and keeping the fire going, his mind was on other things; specifically, his beautiful traveling companion. He wondered what had possessed her to offer to help and marveled at her uncomplaining attitude when he had handed her the damp and dirty branches. Of course, she had not offered to lift a finger to help prepare the food, but, he rationalized, how much work was there in tearing bread and slicing cheese? She was, he thought charitably, acting less and less overindulged every day. As he sat down next to her, he again wondered if she would ever consider marriage to a poor Welsh knight.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked, handing a hunk of bread to her.

  "Yes," she said without enthusiasm and took a small nibble.

  Gareth laughed. "Well don't gorge yourself all at once on this feast."

  Elena smiled. "It's good enough, I just wish traveling didn't mean cold food."

  Gareth thought a moment and then scrambled to his feet, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He searched around in the underbrush for several seconds before he said, "Aha!"

  Elena sat up from her reclining position. "What are you doing?"

  "You want hot food, Sir Gareth will deliver hot food." He held up a long stick proudly.

  "I don't mean to offend you, good Sir Gareth, but that does not look like roasted venison to me."

  "Patience, sweet, patience." He retrieved his knife and began whittling the end of the stick to a point. When he was finished, the stick was bare of bark and sharply pointed. He then skewered Elena's piece of bread, her cheese, and her slab of hard sausage. "There we go," he said as he thrust the stick out over the fire.

  Elena watched, fascinated, as the cheese began to bubble and turn a delicious golden color. The smell of the roasting sausage made her mouth water as drops of grease sizzled into the fire. Gareth carefully turned the stick, wary that the cheese did not melt off, and when he deemed it finished, he carefully removed all three items, stacking the meat and cheese artfully on top of the toasted bread.

  "Fit for a queen," he declared as he handed it to her.

  Elena shifted her meal from hand to hand until the bread had cooled enough not to burn her skin. She then took a huge bite, scalding the roof of her mouth on the sizzling meat, but enjoying the taste of the gooey cheese and spicy sausage nonetheless. When she had managed to chew and swallow her unladylike mouthful, she looked to Gareth who was expectantly awaiting her response.

  "It's delicious," she said. "I think I will recommend you to King Richard for the position of Chef Extraordinaire when we return."

  Gareth's grin of pleasure at her initial response faded when she mentioned Richard. It only reminded him that she would be out of his reach once they arrived at the king's court, and that he was lying to her even now about his plans.

  "What's wrong?" Elena asked, worry evident in her voice.

  Gareth shook his head. "Nothing."

  "Something is bothering you. Is it what I said about making you a chef? I promise I won't tell anyone about your cooking talents if it would make you seem less of a knight." When her teasing evinced no response, she took another approach. "Are you having doubts about returning to Richard?"

  Startled, Gareth shook his head. "Oh no, I was just thinking that if Cynan and Bryant found out I could actually make something edible, they'd make me cook every night instead of the three of us taking turns when we're out in the woods. As it is, I have to struggle to make my meals taste bad so they'll offer to cook for me!"

  Elena smiled at his response, but Gareth sensed she did not entirely believe him. To his great relief, however, she did not press him further and he vowed to himself to make her forget his temporary lapse into melancholy.

  With as much animation as he could muster, he told her of his first night spent in the woods when he was a boy. "Cynan and Bryant and I were finally allowed to go out alone all night. I think we were about eleven years old. As we were preparing to leave the keep, Cynan's father told us to watch out for the bog ghoul who might come steal us away to the underworld. We all laughed, of course, because we were much too grown up to believe in such silly monsters that used to frighten us as children.

  "As we made our way into the forest for our grand adventure, I came up with the brilliant idea of sneaking away in the middle of the night and pretending to be this ghoul to scare the wits out of Cynan and Bryant."

  "You Gareth? No!" Elena exclaimed, teasing.

  Gareth grinned and continued his story. "The start of the plan worked perfectly: I snuck away as soon as they fell asleep, I ran to the stream we were camped near and smeared my entire head with mud. I then stuck leaves and twigs in my hair and practiced my most ferocious growling. As I made my way back to camp, I made sure to crash about, raising all sorts of noise sure to wake the sleeping innocents." Gareth paused and took a swallow of wine.

  "You said the start of the plan worked. When did things go awry? Did they realize right away that it was you?"

  "Oh no, in fact, they were just coming awake as I crashed through the bushes circling our camp. In the dying light of the fire, I must have appeared quite ghoulish indeed. Cynan and Bryant began screaming most pitifully." Gareth started laughing and Elena poked him in the ribs.

  "And?" she asked imperiously. "What happened next?"

  Still chuckling, Gareth continued. "I was growling and waving my arms about while they tried to free themselves of their blankets when I noticed something entering camp from the opposite direction."

  "What?"

  "Coming into the ring of firelight was a creature which made my pitiful attempt at a ghoul seem like child's play. It hobbled into camp and I could see it had a huge hump on it's back, its hair stood straight on end and foamy slobber dribbled down its chin. It was growling horribly and reaching for Cynan who was nearest it. I swear my eyes felt like they were going to pop right out of my head. I forgot all about snarling and sounding demonic and instead began to scream myself. Cynan and Bryant stopped screaming only long enough to turn around and then they joined my chorus. We all took off in different directions into the forest, though we somehow all managed to arrive back at the keep about the same time. We were all blubbering like babes as we told my father our story and I remember wondering why he didn't send out a contingent of armed men."

  Gareth leaned back on the bedroll, propping his head up on his hands. Elena curled up next to him. "And? Why didn't he send one out?"

  "As we were to discover later, the creature who tried to attack us was actually Cynan's father."

  "No! " Elena exclaimed, disbelieving. "Was he mad?"

  Gareth laughed. "Oh, no. He was simply an incurable prankster. He was forever dressing up and fooling—well, scaring, actually--the children at Eyri Keep. As soon as we discovered that he had tricked us, we vowed to get even."

  "What did you do?" she asked, expecting a tale of humorous revenge.

  Gareth sobered. "Actually nothing. A few weeks later, Cynan's father fell from the parapets where he had been working. He died within minutes."

  "Oh," Elena said, feeling sorry for the absent Cynan.

  Gareth looked at her and smiled. "'Tis no matter. It happened near twelve years ago and I'm sure he went to his grave content that he got the last laugh on us."

  Unable to stop herself, Elena yawned.

  Gareth stood and banked the fire. "Are you tired? Perhaps we should go to sleep. We have many a mile to travel tomorrow."

  "I'm not so very tired," Elena said.

  Gareth paused in the act of putting another log on the fire and looked at her. Though she seemed to be intently concentrating on braiding her hair, he was certain her words mea
nt something.

  "No? Well, what should we do? Shall I tell you of another of my childhood escapades?"

  Elena flicked her braid behind her back and looked boldly up at Gareth. "No."

  Though no more words left her lips, her eyes spoke volumes and Gareth obediently joined her in the warm bedding.

  Chapter 22

  They were up early the next morning and on the road by the time the sun cut its lazy path over the horizon. The air held the brisk, pungent fragrance of the last days of summer when every flower is in bloom, every leaf has unfurled, and the grass is at its tallest. Without a second thought, Gareth packed all of their luggage onto the shaggy horse he had purchased in Aberstwyth and settled them both onto Isrid's broad back. Elena again wore Gareth's clothes, content to relinquish her new gown for apparel infinitely more practical for traveling by horseback.

  They chatted amiably throughout that day, and throughout the week following as they made their way across England. They were blessed with near-perfect weather, only suffering two days of rain as league after league disappeared beneath Isrid's hooves. To fill the hours, they told stories of their youth, shared dreams and hopes of their youth, and even admitted first loves and first broken hearts. In the evenings, Elena helped Gareth unload the horses and gather firewood. She even learned to boil water to soften their dried meat into a more palatable stew, their hard sausage having run out on day two. At night, they curled close to each other when the fire burned down to smoldering embers. If the nights grew cold, the lovers did not notice, so intent were they on the other's body, their own pleasure, and the heat they created.

  Gareth would have been content to spend the rest of his days traveling. Not once did he notice the food he ate, the hardness of the ground on which he slept, or the discomfort of the slow, penetrating drizzle that doused them for two days. Later, all he could remember of that trip was Elena pressed against him in the saddle with his arm curled comfortably around her waist; her soft form in his arms night after night; their hours of laughter and shared confidences; and his marvel that she could have changed so much in two short months, going from spoiled shrew to pleasing companion. The only thing that marred the journey for him was the nagging voice in his head telling him he was a fool for remaining silent, reminding him that he was wasting precious time by not telling her he loved her, time that could be spent racing to Eyri Keep should her feelings mirror his. But never in their enjoyable days or passionate nights had she uttered one word of love, one word of encouragement that she desired any more than they already had.

  Elena was reveling in the novel experience of saying and doing whatever she pleased with no worry as to how decorous she looked or how ladylike she sounded. It was a remarkably liberating feeling, she reflected, to be able to discuss with Gareth any topic that came to mind and know that he would answer all her questions and ask her some in return. Never once did he tell her that any of her comments were not befitting a lady of the court, or that she should not concern herself with things more suited to a man's brain. Elena had once thought the way she had coerced the men of Richard's court to her will through flattery and flirtation was power. She was now learning the power of using her own thoughts and ideas to change Gareth's mind. Though she was eager to return to Richard's retinue, she was torn. She loved the richness and the beauty of court with everyone on their best behavior: jewels glittering, velvets rustling, musicians playing, incense-filled braziers smoking. She loved dressing in a new gown to attend a sumptuous feast where men toasted her beauty and laughter filled the hall. On the other hand, she was dimly aware that she would not be able to act in court as she was able to here, in Gareth's company. She would have to return to being a nodding hen wit when the king addressed her, smiling sweetly to his rich but dusty old nobles who doddered around thinking they were ever so much more attractive to the young ladies-in-waiting than their sons and grandsons who were young and handsome and had all their teeth.

  And then there was her fiancée. Of all the strictures and ladylike rules she would have to obey again once she stepped foot in Richard's court, meekly accepting the king's choice of her future husband was the one she dreaded the most. She was growing miserably certain that she would be unable to convince Richard to break off the engagement at this late date. By now Richard must have already received arms and the men to bear them from the earl's holdings. The king would be indebted to Brackley for his support and his advice and he would not risk them in the upcoming confrontation with Henry Tudor for the whim of a mere lady-in-waiting, be she favorite or no.

  All that considered, she continued to fantasize about life at Eyri Keep. She thought of the evenings at Gareth's home spent embroidering by the fire with Enid while Morgan and Gareth discussed moving the flocks of sheep to a new pasture. She remembered the spontaneous festivals that were held for things as common as the birth of a new child or the successful harvest of a field of barley. On days when such an event had occurred, the good news spread like wildfire throughout the small keep, culminating in the kitchen where the three women who cooked for Morgan's household tried to outdo each other with culinary specialties. As they drew nearer to Nottingham and Richard's court, it became easier to imagine herself ensconced there permanently. Cynan had told her that she could have her pick of husbands should she chose to return to Wales, but Elena didn't want her pick; she wanted Gareth. Had he uttered one word of love or one tentative proposal of marriage, they would now be heading away from Nottingham, not toward it. But he remained silent, despite their most intimate exchanges. She felt she had changed and grown much since becoming separated from Richard's entourage all those weeks ago, but her pride would not permit her to fish for avowals of love from him, though she had much experience doing so.

  And so they continued, each day drawing nearer to Nottingham. By the time they were on the outskirts of the city, a day's ride from the king's wartime residence, their conversation had become stilted, each submerged in his thoughts and worries for the future, each wishing the other would speak.

  Chapter 23

  "You shall have a pillow for your head tonight, sweet lady," Gareth said as they rode through the southernmost streets of Nottingham.

  Elena roused herself from her thoughts and turned in the saddle. "We're not continuing on?" It was only mid-afternoon and she had grown accustomed to riding until dusk allowed just enough light to set up camp.

  "No," Gareth answered. "We'll have a short day of riding tomorrow as it is. There is no need to exhaust ourselves today especially when I have money enough for a rich meal and a soft bed," he said, jingling the coins in their leather pouch which hung from his belt.

  "I want fish for supper," Elena said, sitting up a little straighter in the saddle.

  "Fish?" Gareth asked, wrinkling his nose.

  "Yes, it's the meal most different from dried beef!"

  Gareth laughed. "You've been eating dried mutton."

  Elena turned her head and lifted an eyebrow. "Do not even attempt to convince me that there is a difference between the two."

  Elena looked around at the small shops and houses they were passing. As they made their way further into the city, the small buildings grew closer and closer together until they were stacked nearly on top of each other. Though she could sense Gareth growing unease with the crowds and the shops, she was familiar with this city. She had spent many hours attending Lady Elizabeth as they shopped for fabrics and furs. Though she had previously been attended by numerous guardsmen and attendants, Elena still felt comfortable as they entered the teeming city.

  "I suppose we will have to find an inn soon," Gareth said, more to himself than Elena.

  Taking charge, Elena said, "That will be simple. There are several reputable inns very near each other."

  Gareth sighed, obviously relieved that he would not have to try to decide on their accommodations. "Very good. Which way do we go?" He had reined in Isrid at a central marketplace into which dumped at least five crooked streets.

 
"I have no idea."

  "Then how do you know there are several reputable inns in the same area?"

  "I have spent much time in Nottingham. When I was attending Lady Elizabeth, we would oftentimes rest in the inns in between shopping bouts instead of returning to the castle."

  "Well if you spent so much time here doing what you do best, then how is it you have no idea where we should go?"

  "I will recognize the street once we are on it," Elena said defensively.

  "That doesn't do us much good now, does it?"

  Incredulous, Elena turned as much as she could in the saddle. "Well then perhaps you'd like to find us a place to stay, Sir I-don't-need-to-ask-for-directions!" Though it had been a while since Elena had used one of her well-honed imperious looks, she managed to execute it flawlessly and Gareth was squirming uncomfortably within seconds.

  "Alright, I'll stop and ask where this mythical street you remember is. Do you at least know the name of the street?"

  "Of course I do. Ask for West Dover Street."

  Gareth swung off of Isrid and handed Elena the reins to both horses. He entered the shop nearest them, a solicitor's office. As Elena waited, she became aware of the stares of passers-by. Glancing down to see what they were looking at, she realized that she was still wearing Gareth's clothes, which were much wrinkled after a week's wear. Dismayed, she lifted her hand to her hair and found it equally mussed. Elena was mortified. It was enough that she had spent the past weeks looking like a scullery maid. Then she had at least an excuse. She had only her one gown and in it she had been dragged through mountains, streams, and dirt. But now she had a clean new gown sitting in her satchel while she was decked out like a stable boy! Sitting up straight, Elena lifted her chin. No matter, she thought, trying to convince herself. These people are still commoners at heart while I am a lady, regardless of my appearance. Her upraised chin would tell them just that, she decided, besides making it impossible for her to see their critical appraisal of her. Thankfully, Gareth returned within the minute.