by Holby Cindy
Renauld heard the expectant inhale of breath of all those who awaited the king’s ruling. Would Henry simply hand over the Lady Eliane into his keeping? Renauld could not help holding his breath too as he awaited the king’s word. He felt as if he were playing chess and had just put his queen at risk to corner the king. He’d put it all on the line, because he was determined to succeed where his father had failed.
The king looked at Renauld with eyes that seemed full of disappointment. Then suddenly he brightened. With a crook of his finger, he called, “Peter.”
Damn…Peter Salisbury. Renauld had been relieved when he’d noticed the other man’s absence. He had hated Peter Salisbury with a passion ever since the day at Anjou when Edward’s squire had had the audacity to lay his fists upon him. Especially since he’d done so in front of young Rhys de Remy, who should have died in the mud that day. Both had been a thorn in his side ever since. And now here was Salisbury walking toward the king.
“Refresh my memory, Peter,” the king said. “Did we not hear a similar plea from Lord de Remy just a few days ago concerning our dear friend Edward’s health?”
Renauld felt his stomach sink when Henry referred to Edward as his friend. That was not something he had counted on. Since Edward was never at court, Renauld had hoped he would be nothing more than a name to the king. Was there something he’d overlooked? Something he did not know?
“Lord de Remy was summoned to Edward’s side, milord,” Peter explained loud enough for all to hear. “As you recall, Rhys owes Edward his life.” Peter looked directly at Renauld, who resisted the urge to allow his hands to curl into fists.
De Remy had been summoned to Chandler’s side? When? The last and only time he could recall seeing Rhys was three days ago.
“He departed immediately with your blessing, milord,” Peter continued. “He was beginning to find court life a bit…suffocating.”
The crowd laughed quietly at Peter’s remark and Henry smiled broadly.
“I’m sure he was,” Henry agreed quite jovially. His gaze fell upon Renauld. “It seems as if Lord Edward has reached out to someone in his time of need,” Henry said. “But I am sure he appreciates your sentiments,” he added graciously.
Renauld took a step forward before he could stop himself. Henry’s eyes flared and Peter’s hand went to his side, poised above the hilt of his short dress sword. Henry raised his hand.
“Still,” he said. “I am curious about Lady Eliane. If Edward’s situation is as dire as I’ve been led to believe”—he looked pointedly at Renauld—“then it is my sincerest desire to give her aid, comfort, and my protection. So I bid you, Renauld, and you, Peter, to ride to Aubregate and bring her back to me…but only after she has buried her father.”
“Milord,” Renauld spoke up. “Bringing the lady here might not be the best thing for her. She is…different.” He wanted to say deformed, but he had to be careful. After all, Salisbury had served as Chandler’s squire. Chances were he’d seen Eliane’s strange ears and would know that they could be easily hidden at court. However, if there was a chance that he could keep her away from Henry’s protection, then he would take it.
Once more those assembled waited with bated breath for their monarch’s reply. “Nonsense,” Henry said. “She will find us accepting and full of love and respect for her no matter how different she may be,” he said, and then he turned to Peter. “And bring back Lord de Remy also. I am sure there are many who are quite anxious to hear his decision.”
Once more the crowd laughed, but Renauld did not hear it. He was concentrating on trying to hold back the red tide of rage that swelled within him. De Remy was at Aubregate or would be soon. If Renauld realized that, he could have followed him, killed him, and made it look as if it were the fault of the woodsmen.
If only he had known. It occurred to him that if he’d had friends, he probably would have known. But friends meant trust, and trust was not something he could afford. Renauld trusted no man. He preferred to use his coin to get what he wanted. However, without the riches of Aubregate, his coin would soon come to an end.
Renauld found Henry looking at him expectantly. He bowed and without another word turned and walked away.
“Vannoy!” It was Salisbury, of course. Who else? Renauld stopped and gathered himself before he turned to greet the man who followed him out of the king’s chamber.
“Salisbury,” Renauld said. He had to admit the years had been kind to his foe. The last time he’d seen Peter had been at their knighting, which unfortunately had been done jointly. Salisbury had filled out nicely and now had the weight to go with his height. Though Renauld was not as tall as Salisbury, he was as stout and possessed great strength. Still, he’d always been envious of those who were graced with height, such as de Remy.
Could I take him? It occurred to Renauld that he could eliminate all of his enemies in one trip and have Eliane. They would be passing by his lands. His men-at-arms would be traveling with him. But what if Salisbury brought his troops also? Surely he would leave some behind to care for his wife. Still, it would be hard to do anything with so many witnesses. Witnesses who could not be bought, for he had no doubt that Salisbury’s men would be loyal to him. Men such as Salisbury demanded such loyalty, as if it were their birthright.
Still, he would think on it.
“Will the morning be soon enough for you to leave?” Salisbury asked. Renauld could tell by his tone that he was not looking forward to the company either.
He thought for a moment. He needed time…time to prepare.
“First light?” he said finally.
“Agreed,” Salisbury replied, and took his leave without another word.
Renauld watched him go. Salisbury possessed an air of confidence that irked him to the core. It always had, from the time Peter showed up with that whelp de Remy beside him and then challenged Renauld to a fight. Unfortunately, the challenge was issued in front of witnesses and, even more unfortunately, the fight had been with fists instead of weapons.
It had been difficult to determine a winner; both were giving as good as they got. They kept it up until Lord Allan pulled them apart and sent Salisbury on his way. After that, de Remy was not nearly as malleable as before, although Renauld did his best to make the youger squire pay for his insolence. Especially after he realized Rhys wasn’t going to say a word about his accidental fall that day on the bridge.
Perhaps he didn’t know Renauld had pushed him into the muddy torrent. But there were times when he caught the whelp staring at him…watching him…with those dark eyes of his that never showed fear or weakness. De Remy made sure he was never alone with Renauld after that day. Until Renauld was sent back to his own estates to learn their management from his father’s steward before he was knighted.
That was when Eliane came upon him. The bitch. She would pay, de Remy would pay, and Salisbury would pay.
He smiled. He would have all his enemies together in one place. The king had thought to outsmart him, but instead he’d left him with one more move. One more brilliant move. One that required he send a message to Chasmore at once.
Be prepared, Your Majesty…I am about to declare checkmate.
Chapter Seven
Rhys stretched mightily in the luxurious bed he’d been shown to the night before. He sighed in contentment and tossed a pillow at Mathias, who still slept heavily on a pallet before the fireplace. The lazy twit should have been up already and heated the water for his bath. They both should have been up hours ago, but the weariness of their journey had caught up with them.
There had been no lady of the castle to greet them upon their arrival the night before. Neither Lord Edward nor his daughter was about. Whether they were asleep or missing, he was not told by the man-at-arms who allowed them entry. Rhys assumed that Lord Edward’s absence was due to his illness; still, the daughter should have appeared to welcome them.
Granted, they’d come late, guided by the crescent moon and the innumerable stars that refle
cted off the ice-encrusted snow. As they’d entered, Han had waved lazily at them from a comfortable pallet in the main chamber. That their guide was warm and well fed was of some annoyance to Rhys, especially since they’d been in Han’s company early this morning. Why could they not have taken the same route as Han? Did the woman who’d threatened him with her bow in the forest have anything to do with Han’s warning of yester morn? And did the man ever take off that blasted cap? He even wore it as he slept.
Mathias stirred and blinked heavily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Be up, lazabout,” Rhys said. “I require a bath, clean clothes, and food, preferably all served by someone more attractive than you.”
Edward’s daughter mayhap? Rhys had to admit that his curiosity was piqued. Especially since she had not greeted them last night. It was part of the lady’s duties to greet guests, offer to bathe them and clothe them. Unless her deformity was such that she was unable to perform such duties? It was all very puzzling, as was the reason for Edward’s summons.
Mathias stumbled up from his pallet. He stretched, yawned, scratched, and hitched up his chausses over his bony backside. He then knelt before the fire and added a few sticks of wood to bring it roaring back to life. The addition of a log made the flames pop and crackle, and a warm glow soon filled the room. The squire leaned back on his heels and briskly rubbed his bare arms to warm them.
Rhys looked at the pale white skin of Mathias’s thin back as the boy flexed his shoulders to relieve the stiffness that came from sleeping on the floor. How long would it be before a scar marred that youthful skin? Rhys had been thirteen when he’d received his first wound in battle. An arrow had grazed his left arm—he was lucky the shaft had not pierced the muscle and left the arm useless.
He’d been lucky many more times in the innumerable small skirmishes he’d been involved with. None could really be called a war, although he’d been victorious in all. He had scars, across his back, on his side, and a particularly nasty one on his thigh where he’d been run through with a sword. Lucky he’d not been crippled or lost a limb. Lucky he’d survived his many battles.
He considered himself extremely lucky that he had not died the day just past. There’d been no mistaking the threat in the woman’s emerald eyes just as there’d been no mistaking the fact that her ears were strangely pointed. The encounter seemed much more real to him now in the safety of the castle of Aubregate than it had when he’d come out of the forest. Very strange indeed. Should he mention it? Say that a woman with pointed ears had drawn a bow on him and threatened his very life while he lay with his arse freezing in a stream?
Mathias pulled on his chainse, tunic, and boots and left to do Rhys’s bidding. Rhys lay back beneath the furs and lazily contemplated a ray of sunlight that filtered through the curtains of his bed. Curtains that kept our the cold that penetrated the stone walls of the castle.
Aubregate’s riches were evident, but not ostentatious. The hangings on the bed frame were velvet and the rugs were thick and plush. The headboard was intricately carved, along with the posts that held the drapes around it. His mattress was well stuffed and without lumps, and his pillows smelled fresh and clean.
Hanging on the wall across from him was a tapestry unlike anything he’d ever seen before. It featured a woman of incredible beauty with long golden hair standing next to a pure white unicorn in a forest glade. The sunlight that pierced his bed hangings danced upon the tapestry, and golden threads woven throughout the maiden’s and the unicorn’s mane and tail glittered in the morning air along with a few careless dust motes. He turned on his side and propped up his head with his arm to study it better.
It was evident the tapestry was very old, yet it seemed well cared for. Something about it made him sad, almost melancholy, as if he should have known the woman. As if he had missed something truly wonderful. Rhys shook his head at his thoughts. Another flight of fancy, just like the strange woman in the forest.
“Let us hope that I am indeed warm and dry in a bed and not freezing to death in some ditch,” he said as he threw back the blankets and furs and rose to meet the day. His shaft pointed ahead of him, aiming at the tapestry as if the woman there would relieve its need. He hoped there would be a solution to that problem with the arrival of his bath. After the lazy days at court and the abundance of willing partners, he was unaccustomed to going without.
And you still have to decide between Jane and Marcella… That thought did nothing to banish his sudden bout of melancholy at all.
He had no more than wrapped a fur about his naked hips than the door burst open and a line of servants came in with a tray of food, steaming buckets of water, and a tub made of hammered copper.
Mathias brought up the rear with a wide grin on his face. “Just as you requested, milord,” he said.
Rhys cocked a questioning eyebrow at the servants. There was one somewhat dusky wench who carried the tray of food, but the rest were men. Unfortunately, the wench placed the tray upon a table, dipped a quick curtsey, and left while the men arranged the tub in front of the fireplace and poured the steaming buckets of water into it.
“Is this not as you requested, milord?” Mathias asked innocently. He stuck his tongue sideways in his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. “Did you not ask for someone other than me to bathe you?”
“I will beat you eventually,” Rhys said.
“Do you make a habit of beating your squire, milord?” a voice called out. Rhys turned to find a tall woman standing in the doorway holding a basket with soap, oils, and towels. She seemed older than he, yet her face was remarkably smooth except for a few lines around her mouth and her strikingly blue eyes. Her head was completely covered with a thick veil and a long blonde braid shot with silver hung down her back. Her clothing was simple, yet rich, a dark blue bliaut of velvet with intricate silver embroidery on the sleeves that flared at her elbows to reveal a lighter blue sheath beneath. The sleeves of the sheath tightly hugged her arms, ending past her wrists in points between her thumbs and fingers. A wide silver chain belt with a small dagger rode low on her hips. The artistry of both was exquisite. The dagger held a large blue sapphire much like the ruby in the hilt of his short sword.
The woman carried the basket past him, across to the tub, and set it on a small stool. Placing her hands on her hips, she turned to look at Rhys. The look she gave him was appraising, as her eyes swept from the top of his head, down his chest, over his hips, to slide down his legs, where his toes curled into the thick pile of the rug beneath his feet.
“Which do you require first?” she asked as the serving men left the room. “To break your fast or bathe?”
Rhys dropped the fur. “A bath,” he said, and strode casually to the tub.
She lifted an eyebrow as her sharp eyes took in everything about him and Rhys graced her with a smile, stepped into the tub, and sat down in the warm water. He could not help flinching as the heat seared his skin, especially the tender region between his thighs, but he kept his gaze upon the face above him. She might be older than he, but she was beautiful and he had found in the past that older women were most generous and ingenious in the art of lovemaking.
“Are you the lady of the castle?” he asked. He knew that Edward’s wife had died many years ago but had not heard whether he had ever remarried.
“No,” she said. “I am but a simple servant.” She held out a bar of soap for his approval. He sniffed it. Sandalwood, of course, with a hint of something else…pine possibly? He nodded his approval and she dipped it into the water along with a cloth and lathered them together. “My name is Madwyn,” she continued as she picked up his arm and began the process of scrubbing the days of travel from his body. “Milord and lady both bade me to apologize for their lack of hospitality this past eve. Milord is not well and milady and I were not present when you arrived.”
“Is your lady at home now?” His curiosity was once more piqued about Edward’s mysterious daughter. Mayhap she was hidden away in a
convent where no one would see her.
“Yes,” Madwyn replied as she moved around the tub and started on his other side. “Milady Eliane and I returned early this morning. She is attending to the needs of Aubregate and her father. She will send word when he is ready to meet with you.”
Rhys reclined against the back of the tub with his eyes closed while Madwyn went about the business of washing his body. The heat of the water spread into his muscles and relieved much of the tension he’d carried with him during the journey. The feel of the cloth sliding across the planes of his chest was pleasurable and Madwyn’s touch was firm, yet gentle. All in all, it was quite an enjoyable bath and he had high hopes of it leading to more pleasure before he met Lord Edward. Still, he was curious about the missing daughter. “Will the Lady Eliane be present when I meet with Lord Edward?” he asked.
The answer he got was a hot towel draped across the lower half of his face. He opened one eye to find Madwyn standing over him with a blade in her hand. “Shall I shave you?” she asked. The glint in her eye gave him pause and he heard Mathias smother a snort across the room.
Rhys was not one to back down from a challenge. He nodded his agreement and laid his head back against the rim of the tub to allow her blade access to his throat. Her hands were deft and sure and he could not help admiring the closeness of the shave when she finished.
“Mathias,” he said after she wiped the remnants of the soap from his face. “Did you lay out my best clothes?”
“Yes, milord,” he replied.
“Then go attend to Yorath,” he instructed. “Make sure he is content.”
“Milord?” Mathias questioned. The squire knew full well that his master’s horse was well cared for in the Aubregate stables.
