“I fear that I have nothing to put all of my new garments in,” she said, hoping to distract him from whatever moodiness he was feeling. “Do you suppose our new merchant friend would have cap cases to store these in?”
Rhys didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I have already seen to that. I purchased one of Marchant’s larger satchels off of him last night. He needed to empty the contents before giving it to me but promised he would do so by this morn. In fact, perhaps we should break our fast now so that we may be ready to leave when the merchant’s caravan is ready to move out.”
With that, he collected the rest of her possessions and extended his free hand to her, which she easily accepted. But when he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, she snaked her hand up his forearm and ended up holding his hand again. When he looked down at her, startled by her action, she merely smiled at him. It was a sweet, pretty smile. He tried very hard not to return her smile, unsure of her actions, wondering why she should try to hold his hand so tightly. He was greatly confused. But two seconds of holding out against her smile saw him collapse like a weakling. He smiled back and hated himself for it.
The main room of the tavern was filled with bodies; some sleeping, some still drinking, and still others breaking their fast after a night’s sleep. Rhys took Elizabeau to their table by the hearth and made sure she and her new possessions were comfortably seated before going in search of a morning meal. He kept an eye on her as he waited for the barkeep to return with their food, chuckling inwardly at the man’s daughter and the secret door in her chamber. He turned his back long enough to collect the tray from the man but by the time he turned around, Elizabeau was no longer alone at their table. Robinson had joined her.
“Ah, Rhys,” the merchant greeted him amiably. “I was just telling your wife that I have never seen my merchandise look so lovely. She is positively exquisite.”
Rhys set the tray down in front of Elizabeau. “Aye, she is, and if you leer at her any longer I’ll gouge your eyes out.”
Robinson snorted as he took a piece of bread off of Elizabeau’s tray. “It would be well worth the pain, my friend.” He took a bite and chewed noisily. “Thank God this weather has cleared up, though the roads will be as muddy as sin. Still, we should make decent time today. Perhaps we’ll make it as far as Beaconsfield.”
Rhys pulled up a chair and sat next to Elizabeau, who was busily packing her new clothes into the large satchel that Robinson had brought with him. “Will you be selling your wares there?” she asked the merchant.
“Probably,” he said. “Then it’s on to Gloucester and the Marches. The savages need fine clothes and will pay handsomely for the privilege.” He shoved more bread into his mouth, eyeing the couple seated across from him. “And you? Will you be returning home from a trip to London or are you taking a sojourn from the madness that is London?”
Elizabeau secured the satchel and went for a piece of cheese; she would let Rhys handle the questions, which he did so admirably. “We are returning home,” he said evenly.
“You must have a great castle,” Robinson said, a bit leadingly.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it is evident that you are powerful and wealthy. From the money you spent last night on your wife’s wardrobe, it is clear that money is of no concern to you. I’ve been up all night attempting to figure out whom, exactly, you really are.” He lifted his brows. “An earl in disguise? A marquis? A runaway prince perhaps?”
Rhys was chewing his own bread and cheese. He lifted a black eyebrow at Robinson’s attempt to probe him. He decided to take the nosy old merchant for a ride just to shut him up. He knew the type; they would never have any peace as long as there was a mystery surrounding them.
“Very well,” Rhys suddenly took on a hint of animation; from a man who was perpetually stone-faced, it was a definite departure. “But you must swear you will keep our secret.”
Robinson was very serious. “Of course, Rhys.”
Rhys sat forward, his arms on the table and his big hands carefully folded. “I am Lord of the baronetcy of Rhayder. Chrycan Castle, my seat, is situated on the edge of the Radnor Forest and our village holds nearly five thousand peasants at any given time. Now, the Rhayder baronetcy is known for its unusual populace, mostly people with webbed feet or forked tongues, but I myself find it charming because it is, in fact, my home. I had a brother who was born with an extra set of teeth and I myself was born with a strange affliction that I shall not delve into, but it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I do not wish to be bothered by the rabble because everyone knows that Rhayder is a place of curses and cures, which is why I do not travel with a retinue. It draws too much attention and I’m sick to death of healing the sick with the power of my third eye, but that is to be expected with someone of my gift. Do you understand what I have told you so far?”
Robinson was horrified and impressed at the same time. “Of course, my lord.”
“Then you will keep my secret.”
“To the grave, my lord.”
“Good,” Rhys sat back in his chair and took a large hunk of bread with an equally large hunk of cheese. When he noticed that Elizabeau was staring at him as if he had grown another head, he reached out and stroked her hair gently. “Eat your meal, angel. We have a long day ahead of us and you will need your strength.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Obediently, she returned to her food, listening to Robinson strike up a conversation about the possibility of selling his wares in the Rhayder baronetcy. It would seem that the man was an opportunist in spite of all of the bizarre things Rhys had told him. In fact, it had been difficult for Elizabeau to keep a straight face. When Rhys told Robinson he had a brother with an extra set of teeth, she had nearly choked on her cheese.
After listening to Robinson’s inane chatter for several long minutes, they were mercifully interrupted by two of the merchant’s men. There was apparently an issue with reloading some of the stock in the wagon and Robinson rose from his chair, bellowing at his men that they were imbeciles. But it removed him from Rhys and Elizabeau’s presence. Rhys stopped stroking her hair the moment the merchant left the room.
“Webbed feet and forked tongues?” Elizabeau blurted in a hushed tone. “My God, what a horrendous place you described.”
Rhys looked at her, noticing that she was nearly choking on her food in her attempt to suppress her laughter. “I thought the extra set of teeth was a particularly good touch.”
Her laughter broke through then and she struggled to swallow. “Appalling.” She took a drink of watered ale to wash down the cheese. “Do you really have a brother?”
“I do. He’ll punch me in the face if he knows I told such a tall tale about him.”
Her laughter faded as she gazed at him. “Is he the duke’s son, also?”
Rhys shook his head and took a healthy bite of bread. “Nay. He is my half-brother, born to my mother and her husband two years after I was born.”
“I see. Is he a knight also?”
“He serves my grandfather.”
“And who is your grandfather?”
“Berwyn de Llion,” he replied. “He is the Steward of Bronllys Castle, one of de Lohr’s holdings. My brother is his Captain.”
She thought on that a moment. “And your brother’s name?”
“Rod.”
“Is that where you are taking me?” she asked softly. “Are we going to Bronllys?”
Rhys finished his bread before answering. “I do not know yet. De Lohr is to plan our next move.”
Elizabeau didn’t say anything. Finished with her cheese, she simply sat and gazed into the fire. Even though she’d had a few hours of sleep and a meal, she wasn’t feeling very well and her throat was beginning to hurt. She suspected she had caught a chill as a result of being soaked to the skin for hours on end, but she hoped it would pass. At the moment, she was warm and well fed, so hopefully it would heal whatever illness that was attemp
ting to take root. She had enough to worry about without the threat of contracting a deadly illness.
Robinson burst back into the inn, bellowing to the barkeep to pack some food for his journey. On his heels came Christopher de Lohr and a host of powerful knights, flooding into the tavern with their mail and weapons. Startled, Robinson moved out of their way and allowed them to pass. When more knights followed on the heels of the first group, the merchant vanished back into the kitchens as a safety precaution. Many knights, in close proximity, were never a good thing.
De Lohr’s hawk-sharp eyes found Rhys immediately. “Rhys,” he greeted, crossing the floor towards him. “Everything is well, I take it?”
Rhys nodded. “Indeed, my lord,” he greeted David as the man walked past him, heading for the fire, but continued to speak with Christopher. “We’ve seen no hardships since our arrival here. The lady is rested and fed.”
De Lohr’s sky blue eyes moved over Elizabeau, inspecting her from head to toe. He was surprised to see her looking rested and quite beautiful. “Where did you find the clothing?” he asked Rhys.
“We were fortunate enough to happen across a traveling merchant,” Rhys lowered his voice. “The man believes me to be an obscenely wealthy baron and has asked the lady and me to join him in his travel to the Marches. It might be the perfect disguise for our movements.”
“That is something we must discuss.”
Christopher pulled off a gauntlet and reached up to remove his helm. He had very blond hair, longer, which he ran his fingers through to slick back against his skull. Coupled with his neatly trimmed blond beard, it rather gave him the appearance of a lion. He had, in fact, been called the Lion’s Claw when he served as Richard the Lion Heart’s Champion. His blond-maned appearance gave credence to that moniker.
Rhys resumed his seat as Christopher and David sat opposite. Elizabeau watched curiously as the brothers de Lohr settled themselves, removing helms and gauntlets but keeping their weapons close at hand. She could see the family resemblance, though Christopher was quite a bit larger than his younger brother. David, however, had the biggest hands Elizabeau had ever seen on a man his size. As she studied the pair, the earl spoke quietly.
“De Burgh has decided that the lady will be much safer someplace incognito,” he said in a low voice. “Our first instinct was to take her to one of de Burgh’s holdings, such as White or Grosmont Castle. But those who know we have her will look to the castles first.”
“The castles will provide protection, my lord,” Rhys said quietly. “John can lay siege to either for as long as he wishes and she will remain protected.”
“True,” de Lohr conceded. “But if John lays siege for any length of time, we will never be able to safety remove her to rendezvous with Prince Conrad.”
“Conrad?”
De Lohr nodded. “Conrad Ebhardt von Brunswick, Prince of Alsace and the next king of England,” he said as if he wasn’t particularly excited about it, simply resigned. “His father is Frederick II, King of Naples & Sicily, Duke of Swabia, and brother to Otto IV of Brunswick, the Holy Roman Emperor.”
So now the prince had a name. Rhys somehow felt as if the seriousness of his mission had just multiplied tenfold. So much was depending on his ability to keep the lady alive, which he’d done admirably so far. But it was as if now, with the revelation of a name, he felt the weight of the world riding on his considerable shoulders. The situation now had a name, a history, a future. Much was depending on his talents as a knight.
He sighed heavily; he couldn’t help it. “So you think it wise to keep the lady hidden from the prince rather than trust her to the protection of a castle?”
De Lohr’s sky-blue eyes glittered with cold calculation. “I believe that we must keep her someplace that John will never look. You will therefore take her to your mother’s home in Wales and keep her there for three weeks’ time.”
Rhys did something out of character at that moment; he lifted his dark eyebrows in genuine surprise. “But… my lord, my mother lives at a fortified manor. In truth, it is little more than a farm. If the king discovers the lady and lays siege to the house, there is very little by way of defense. They will easily breach the place.”
“Understood,” de Lohr said patiently. “But, as I explained, we believe at this point that it will be a safer place for her. John’s spies are spreading out all over England. To find her in a small town in Wales is more than likely the last place they will look.”
Elizabeau, silent through the exchange, spoke up. “His grandfather is Steward of Bronllys Castle. Perhaps I should go there. At least there will be walls for protection. I cannot say that I am entirely comfortable leaving my protection to chickens and farm implements.”
Christopher looked at her. “I understand your concern, but you must believe me when I say that keeping you someplace they will never look is our best hope. Even now, we have sent out several decoys to the north, hoping John’s assassins will pursue. I believe that the men at Courtenay’s manor had no knowledge of your tracks once you left the area. Moreover, whatever evidence there was has washed away.” He looked back to Rhys. “After three weeks’ time, you will take the lady to Ogmore Castle where she will rendezvous with the prince. They will be married there and more than likely sent back to the prince’s homeland for safety’s sake. We must be fully prepared to seize the throne before the lady and her husband can return to assume their destiny.”
So that was the brilliant plan; marriage, escaping the country, and then returning on the heels of a civil war. Apprehensive, Elizabeau sat back in her chair and lowered her gaze; last night, she had been belligerent and loud. But this morning, her attitude had changed a great deal. These men were trying very hard to keep her alive until she could marry her prince. She was coming to respect what they were attempting to accomplish and arguing with them had only made her feel ungrateful and foolish. So in a reversal of behavior, she decided to keep her mouth shut. Perhaps they did know more than she did when it came to outsmarting her Uncle John.
Christopher watched her lovely face for a moment, surprised she had not argued with him. In fact, she had given in easily. His brother ordered a meal while Christopher relaxed in his chair, feeling his fatigue for the first time in days. He continued to eye the lady now and again, waiting for her to contest his judgment. But still, she sat silent. He scratched his head and turned to his brother.
“I think I will return home for a few days,” he said to him. “I haven’t seen Dustin in weeks and she’ll have my head if I don’t show my face for a short while.”
“Do you live close by, my lord?”
The polite question came from Elizabeau. She was focused on the earl and he answered. “My keep is outside of Hereford,” he replied. “A few days ride from here.”
“Your wife’s name is Dustin?”
“It is.”
“Do you have any children, my lord?”
“Two daughters. And my wife is expecting again.”
Elizabeau turned to David, waiting impatiently for his food. “And you, my lord? Are you married with children, also?” she asked.
David had slightly less tolerance for conversation than his older brother. He rubbed his eyes wearily. “My wife is Emilie and I have a daughter also.”
Elizabeau’s gaze moved between the two men, her deep green eyes calculating. “Then tell me this, my lords; if I were your wife, or one of your daughters, would you so easily send me to a farm with no walls or an army for protection while trying to shield me from a king who employs legions of assassins? Is that a truly wise move?”
The de Lohr brothers stared at her for a moment before Christopher finally answered. “I would trust the life of my wife and daughters to Rhys without hesitation,” he replied steadily. “And yes, I do believe sending you to a farm, where your uncle will never think to look, is a wise decision. I am not in the habit of making foolish ones.”
Elizabeau’s resolve to behave was quickly fading. She sighed sharply, m
aking her disagreement obvious, before returning her attention to the fire. She wasn’t sure what more she could say that wouldn’t turn into a fight. What concerned her most was that Rhys apparently agreed with her; no walls, no protection, only a fortified manor. John’s men could get to her if she were discovered.
David’s meal came and he plowed into it alongside his brother. While the earl and Rhys kept a quiet conversation, Elizabeau stared into the hypnotic fire and pondered her dark thoughts. Conrad is his name, she thought. The name of the man she would spend the rest of her life with. She wondered what sort of man he was; most princes she had heard of, or kings for that matter, had some manner of perversity or dishonor associated with them. It made her stomach twist with apprehension, and that apprehension was her last coherent thought before the world around her exploded.
She heard a strange noise off to her left followed by an even stranger wailing sound. Suddenly, Rhys was throwing himself on top of her and she was in a heap beneath his massive body. She could hear Christopher snapping orders and saying something to the effect that David had been hit by an arrow, but she couldn’t see anything. Terror welled in her chest as Rhys abruptly pushed himself off of her, put both armored arms around her in a bear hug, and pulled her with him behind an upended table.
More arrows were flying over her head, crashing into the wall above the hearth. Instinctively, she yelped and covered her head, listening to the terrifying sounds of death that were aimed at her. Off to her left, she could see David sitting up against another upended table with an arrow jutting from his shoulder. But he was lucid, and angry, and his sword was in his left hand preparing for the battle to come.
More arrows flew overhead, clattering to the floor when they met with the stone wall. Elizabeau kept herself in a huddle, arms over her head, while Rhys kept his big arms around her. He couldn’t do much more than protect her from the projectiles, watch David and take his orders from the man. He couldn’t see the earl at all.
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