by Holby Cindy
“Cause delays.” The realization came to him. “Is Peter on his way here?”
“Yes. He rides by the king’s command with Vannoy. The king bade them return both you and the Lady Eliane to court as soon as possible after the death of her father.”
Renauld Vannoy…It was he who was behind the attacks. He wants her. “Take him inside and see that his wounds are tended,” he commanded. Han nodded and they moved on, leaving Rhys alone in the opening between the inner and outer bailey.
Rhys looked toward the outer bailey. The walls were stout and would withstand assault. Torches had been placed at both gates. Men walked the walls, their eyes turned outward. They had lost comrades this day. They would not be surprised again.
Vannoy wants her…Did she want him in return? Surely they knew each other. After all, their lands adjoined. There was a long-standing feud between the families, but feuds between parents were often reasons for rebellious sons and daughters to come together.
Did Eliane want Renauld as her husband even though her father would never permit it? Had she led her men into the ambush, hoping the attackers would take her away from an unwanted marriage?
Nay…she’d killed one of them. Killed one to save his life. Or was it to keep him from speaking the truth? Would she sacrifice her own men and an innocent boy to go with Renauld?
Surely not.
She is mine…mine…
That was why Renauld was at court. He was seeking to force the king’s hand. He must have made promises to the king. Promises regarding the rumored treasure of Aubregate and its deformed daughter.
Mine.
Her ears…Renauld knew of Eliane’s strangely shaped ears and spread rumors of her deformity to scare off other suitors. And now he was coming for her.
Mine.
Thunder, strange for this time of year, rumbled to the west. Lightning followed it, slashing across the sky and revealing the high swell of dangerous clouds. Rain would soon be upon them.
“Mine,” Rhys said as he went into the castle to prepare for his wedding. But he could not help thinking, Does she want Renauld?
Chapter Twelve
The wind blew the witnesses into the castle, rattling the windows and causing the fire in the great hall to flutter wildly in the hearth. Those who’d just entered did not pause to talk. Instead they made their way through the crowd directly to the roaring fire to dry off. As they stood before the hearth they discussed in low tones the attack and the sudden urgency for the vows about to be spoken.
In the solar above, Madwyn was attempting to keep Eliane’s mind from running off in several different directions at once.
“My father?” Eliane asked.
“Cedric is to bring him down,” Madwyn said. “They have put pillows in his chair.”
“He should not leave his bed,” Eliane said. “He is too weak.”
“He desires it,” Madwyn said. “That is all that matters.”
“Rhys?” She stumbled over his name. She should not stumble over it. What if she stumbled during the vows?
“He is still in his chambers,” Madwyn assured her. “He has bathed. I believe he is as eager as you,” Madwyn added with a wry smile.
She was more anxious than eager. Too much had happened in too short a time. First the attack, and her father’s decision to move up the ceremony, then the appearance of Han with Peter’s squire and the message he carried. I am to go to the king? Why? The most unsettling thing was the way Rhys looked at her when it was revealed that Renauld was on his way to Aubregate with orders from the king to return her to court. There was something in his eyes that frightened her, almost as much as the prospect of leaving her home did. Something that had not been there before. Not even when he kissed her. Llyr must have sensed her disquiet, because he came from his place on the rug and placed his head in her lap.
“Eliane,” Madwyn scolded. “He will soil your dress.” Eliane looked at the dark head lying on the pale blue velvet and rubbed behind his ears. Llyr’s brown eyes conveyed the sadness she felt. How could she leave Aubregate?
“I will not leave this place while Papa is alive.”
“You should eat something,” Madwyn scolded as if she had not heard her. Eliane looked at her untouched food. Her stomach rebelled at the thought.
“He cannot last much longer,” Eliane continued. She put a hand to her lips to stop the sudden burst of emotion that sought to escape from her heart.
“Hush, child,” Madwyn said. She placed her hand beneath Eliane’s chin and lifted her face. “Think happy thoughts. Think of your marriage. Think of your wedding night.”
Eliane jumped from her stool. That was the one thing she did not want to think about. She did not know what to think, how to act, or what to do. She had thought herself prepared—she knew what was to happen, what he would do, what she must allow him to do, but still she worried.
What if he found her…lacking? What if he refused her at the bedding ceremony because of her ears or because he found her undesirable? The entire thought of being stripped and put on display made her stomach heave into her throat, and she was suddenly grateful that she had not found time to eat this day.
The sound of a door opening and closing across the hallway turned her head. She listened to footsteps, two sets, Rhys and Mathias, until they faded away onto the steps that led down to the great hall. Madwyn took her hands and gripped them tight. She looked Eliane over, adjusted the gold circlet that held her veil, and said, “It is time for you to be married. But we must not rush to it. Let the groom wonder where you are. It will do him good to wait.”
Edward sat in his chair beside the hearth. He seemed lost in it, as he was lost in his fine velvet tunic and cloak. Pillows were placed around his body to keep him upright, and his fingers were curled into a fist on his left hand so that his ring would not slide off.
Cedric stood as always by his side, ready to see to his lord’s slightest whim. Han stood on the opposite side, his icy blue eyes watching the room before he bent to whisper in Edward’s ear as each of those who’d been summoned moved to greet him. Rhys had to look again to make sure it was Han, but there was no mistaking those pale blue eyes, the smooth face, and the upward-slashing brow.
Han’s clothing was as fine as Edward’s. His tunic was deep blue velvet, embroidered with silver thread, and his boots were soft gray leather that came over his knees. His pale hair was unbound and fell down his back to his waist. As he had when he came upon Eliane in the forest, Rhys had a vision of the forbidden stories his nurse had told him as a child about the hidden world of the elves and the fey. Mayhap the tales were true after all.
Edward watched him as he stood beside the stairs, waiting for his bride. He did not want to appear too anxious, so Rhys made his way through the crowd of well-wishers to Edward. A maid offered him wine and he took it, downing it all in one gulp.
“Nerves, milord?” the steward asked, and the crowd laughed merrily at the sight of him with his empty chalice.
“Nay,” Rhys said. “I am only anxious to have the wedding behind me so that I may engage in more pleasant pursuits.”
It was what they wanted to hear. Edward smiled weakly from his chair and Rhys wondered where he found the strength to remain upright. His skin was gray, and it seemed as thin as parchment over his bones.
Comments were made about the desirability of the bride, and the prowess of the groom. It seemed all were anxious for the bedding ceremony to come. But first, there must be a wedding. Father Timothy cleared his throat loudly and all heads turned to where the staircase entered the main hall.
Her bliaut was of palest blue velvet with a kirtle of white silk beneath and trimmed with thread of silver and gold around the hem and the ends of her sleeves. Blue, to signify her purity. Was she pure? Had she already given her body to Renauld and then sent him to petition the king for their marriage? You will drive yourself mad with these thoughts.
Her garments hugged the long lines of her body as faithfully as the chausses he’d seen her we
ar. Her form was long and lithe, but well curved, with a nipped-in waist and high breasts that moved slightly with every breath she took. A girdle of golden mesh encircled her hips, and a jeweled dagger hung at her side. A long white veil covered her hair, and a gold circlet with a sapphire was set upon it. Her hair hung heavy to her hips with just the ends curling up. A few slight wisps of copper framed her face, which was as pale as her gown. Her left hand twisted in the fur of her dog’s neck as her emerald eyes landed upon her father. She should always wear emeralds. Emeralds and nothing else. Eliane stepped forward to go to her father but had to stop when Rhys moved into her path and took her hand.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he said into her ear. Her brow arched in surprise as he guided her, none too gently, toward Father Timothy. Rhys placed a hand in the small of her back to urge her forward and was surprised to find her trembling. Llyr, on her opposite side, growled at him and Madwyn quickly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. The dog yelped and Eliane looked around as if seeing the room for the first time.
“Your hand is cold,” Rhys said. He placed his other atop it as they took their place before Father Timothy.
She only nodded, and he noticed her teeth were chattering. The dog growled in protest as Ammon took him away.
“Llyr?” Eliane protested.
“I will keep you warm,” he whispered against her veil. His breath moved it slightly, and he saw the peak of her ear hiding in the mass of copper hair. Eliane looked at him, her emerald eyes wide, her lips trembling, and then she looked beyond him, to her father, who nodded and smiled.
“Proceed,” Edward commanded, and waved a frail hand in the priest’s direction.
“Is this the same wench who slew a man this day?” Rhys smiled at the gathering while he whispered in her ear. “The same one who threatened to kill me in the forest?”
“Telling her of your plans for later this eve, milord?” A voice rose above the crowd, which laughed in response.
He kept his eyes on Eliane and watched the play of emotions over her face, watched her gather herself, watched as her eyes narrowed.
“Do you think me afraid, milord?” Only he could hear her. She gazed at him as if she were trying to see inside him, trying to discern his intent. As if she wanted to see his soul.
“We all fear the unknown,” he whispered once more against her ear, a wry smile upon his lips at her sudden bravery. Once more she was the huntress from the wood. All that was missing was her bow.
“Is marriage a state you are familiar with?” She turned away, not giving him the satisfaction of watching the play of emotions on her face.
His heart leapt at her challenge. Back was the Eliane whose company he much enjoyed. “Nay, wife, only what comes after. I am most anxious to show you that.”
She looked at him, her eyes glittering in the firelight, her nose tilted haughtily in the air, as if she found him lacking. She would soon see that he was not. “I am not your wife yet.”
“A condition that I would like to change with haste,” Rhys said loudly. “If yon buffoons would stop laughing at their own jests long enough for the priest to say the necessary words over us.”
Father Timothy puffed up his barrel chest while the assemblage quieted down. He opened his mouth to speak, but Eliane interrupted. “Wait.”
Was she about to cry off? Fear gripped him, and he squeezed her hand without thinking. She placed her other against the velvet covering his chest, and her eyes implored him. “I want Llyr by my side,” she said. “He has been there so long that I feel his absence dearly.”
It was as if she touched his heart with her hand. Anything…She could ask for the moon and he’d fly to the heavens to pluck it from the sky. Once more he had to gather himself. He seemed to lose himself whenever she was near. He could not act the besotted fool for this group. What was wrong with him?
You will be fine once you have her. Once you rid yourself of this lust for her.
“Bring forth the beast,” Rhys snapped over his shoulder. “So we may be done with this.”
“The marriage bed will be crowded, milady, with two beasts in it,” someone ventured. The jest was in poor taste and nervous laughter covered it.
Eliane cast her eyes downward, demurely, as the dog, released by Ammon, bounded to her side. Her skin turned as bright as her hair. She flattened her hand, pushed the palm downward, and the dog sat still as a statue by her side. “I did not mean to anger you, milord,” she said quietly.
Father Timothy cleared his throat before Rhys or anyone else could respond. When the room quieted, they knelt before him in the rushes. His thigh touched hers and he was amazed to see they were near the same length. It thrilled him to imagine those thighs wrapped around his waist. He should be listening; he would need to speak soon, but he could not concentrate.
Her lower arm rested upon his thigh as he held her hand clasped in his, and the long muscle beneath his skin clenched with her touch. He wanted nothing more than to raise her hand to his lips and kiss it, to take each finger into his mouth and suck, but Father Timothy was looking at him as if he expected Rhys to say something. Her hand flexed within his.
“Repeat after me,” Father Timothy said once more. Rhys forced himself to focus on the priest’s round face as his voice rang strong and clear through the hall. Eliane’s soon did the same. Father Timothy called for the rings. Rhys had not even realized there would be rings. Luckily he wore one, as he always did on formal occasions. It was the ring his Welsh grandfather had sent back with him when he rejected him. For some strange reason he’d taken a liking to the ring and kept it with him wherever he traveled. The craftsmanship of it had always intrigued him. Two continuous vines of silver and gold made a perfect circle. He slid it off his smallest finger and onto hers, once more repeating the vows.
Confusion crossed Eliane’s face when Father Timothy looked at her expectantly. Han moved to her side and placed something in her hand. Her father’s ring. An emerald set in gold. The colors of Aubregate. The color of her eyes. Her teeth caught her lip as she tried with some difficulty to slide it over his knuckle, but she smiled when it finally slid into place.
Father Timothy added the Lord’s blessing and then bade them stand. “You may seal the vows with a kiss.”
Her lips parted with a gasp as he placed his hands on either side of her face. Her emerald eyes searched his, questioning him, but he cared not. He wanted nothing more than to drag her from this room to the chamber above and throw her upon the bed. But he could not. Not until the feasting and the toasting and the boasting was done. He lowered his face and brushed his lips over hers.
“Hail, Lady Eliane! Hail, Lord Rhys!” Tankards of ale were thumped upon the long wooden table and a cheer went up around the hall. Llyr’s deep bark joined the cheers and Eliane was whirled from his side as congratulations abounded. A tankard was shoved into his hand.
Servants poured into the hall with trays of food. Musicians followed, and a merry tune soon filled the room. Rain pounded against the stone of the castle and turned to ice, sheathing it in glittering crystal.
Mathias grinned sheepishly at Rhys from the corner. One of the maids kissed the boy and pushed a tankard into his hand. Tomorrow his head would be splitting and he would be sorry, but tonight he could be young and foolish.
Rhys’s eyes found his bride, by her father’s side. Edward’s hand gripped hers and he looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. She bent and kissed his forehead. Her father pulled her hand to his cheek and looked beyond her to Rhys, his face shadowed with coming death.
Renauld grabbed the front of the messenger’s shirt and pulled him close enough that the stench of the man’s rotted teeth gave him pause. The smell was so offensive that he flung him back so that his head snapped against the tree beneath which he sheltered. He should be warm and he should be dry. He should have Eliane and Aubregate under his thumb. All should be as he desired, but instead he stood beneath a tree in the freezing rain hearing things he did not wish to hear
.
“Tell me again.” It took great effort not to rip the man’s head off.
“The Lady Eliane is to marry Rhys de Remy. The banns were posted two days ago.” The man stuttered and spittle jumped from his mouth as he spoke. He was frightened, as well he should be. The men in Renauld’s employ knew the penalty for failing him. Yet they were desperate enough for his coin not to care. That was why he used them. They’d known starvation and they knew about torture and would do anything to avoid either.
“There was an attack on the lady this day,” the messenger continued, his tongue tripping over his rotting teeth. “She is now safe inside her keep.”
“Damn,” Renauld muttered. He did not dare say more since Salisbury was watching him. De Remy had gone in and taken the prize. If only he had drowned in the mud all those years ago. How many nights since then had Renauld considered it? If only the boy had died, if only Edward had minded his own business. If only his father had succeeded where his forefathers had failed.
At least he had the satisfaction of knowing de Remy was saddled with a hideous wife. The last time Renauld had seen Eliane, she’d been nothing but skinny arms and legs, wild red hair, and a face covered with hideous spots from the sun. And her ears…he’d only seen them the one time, the time she drew her bow upon him. They were an abomination. They should be cut from her head, or at the least shaped to look normal.
That had been his plan. Take his knife and trim her ears. He’d ached to do so since the first time he’d seen them. And now Rhys de Remy had taken his prize.
Renauld pounded a gloved fist into his hand. He needed an outlet for his frustration. He would love to hit the messenger and knock the rutted stumps of his teeth from his head, but he could not. Because Salisbury watched him.
I will have Aubregate. De Remy did not deserve it. It should be his. His father had died because of it. He’d waited years for it. With Edward dying, the time was now right. But if de Remy took Eliane as his wife before he got there…
