England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Rhys stopped his pacing and looked at his uncle. “Then what would you suggest?” he snapped softly in a true display of emotion. “For I am terrified of this position I find myself in and I do not know what to do about it other than complete my mission as ordered. But I fear that will be an inhuman feat of strength and I do not know if I am strong enough.”

  Rhett eyed his nephew a moment as the commotion with the frog died down; Elizabeau had managed to remove it from her skirts and once again placed it gently into Maddoc’s hands. He watched Rhys as the man observed the interplay between his son and the lady, reading the emotions across his face. It was surprising and, frankly, pleasing given the fact that Rhys was not one to show emotion. Gwyneth had long since killed that ability in him. But with the introduction of Lady Elizabeau, Rhett could see how very much was at stake. His heart ached for his nephew.

  “You are indeed that strong,” he assured Rhys. “You are the strongest man I know, the greatest knight this family has yet to see. But would you like to hear the rest of my advice? I fear you will not like it.”

  Rhys lifted his big shoulders. “I already do not like it, but continue.”

  “Let me recall your brother. Have Rod take her to Ogmore and be done with it.”

  Rhys looked at him. “Rod?” he repeated, thinking on his younger, more volatile brother. “He’s capable, of course. But would Berwyn let him go? Rod does everything for him now that he’s so old.”

  Rhett laid a meaty hand on Rhys’ arm. “I’ll send word to Bronllys right away. Rod can be here in a few days.”

  Rhys didn’t say anything. He returned his attention to Elizabeau and Maddoc, who had now lost the frog in the grass and were attempting to capture it again. As his uncle shuffled away, Rhys made his way over to the pair in the weeds. With every step he took, his heart was breaking just a little more.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The town of Llandogo was a few miles to the south of Whitebrook, a village that was at a major crossing across the River Severn and heavily populated by merchants and seamen. It was early afternoon when Rhys and Elizabeau left to do their shopping, taking Dylan and Carys along with them. Rhys thought it would be safer that way because if his siblings were along, then he and Elizabeau would have no privacy to discuss the things he was desperately attempting to avoid. But, on the other hand, he sorely regretted not having any time alone with her. It was an odd paradox.

  Elizabeau rode with him atop his charger while Dylan rode his leggy brown gelding and Carys plodded along on her gray palfrey. The two younger siblings were thrilled to be away from Whitebrook and excited at the prospect of spending the afternoon in Llandogo. Only Rhys and Elizabeau seemed silent, either lost to their own thoughts or paying attention to everything else but each other. If Carys and Dylan noticed, they did not let on.

  Llandogo was about an hour’s ride. As they came upon the outskirts of the town, they began to run into the traveling merchants and gypsies that set up on the side of the road and attempted to lure customers to their wares. Carys was immediately taken with the pretty merchandise that a swarthy, round woman sold from the rear of her wagon, long strips of colored fabric that blew softly in the breeze. But Rhys would not let her stop to look and, disappointed, she plodded along gloomily behind her brother.

  Dylan found a dog show in progress as they came upon the main street of merchants. The man had six small dogs that he had trained to do tricks, and several children gathered around to watch with delight. Before Rhys could stop him, Dylan had climbed off his horse and was involving himself in the dogs’ antics. When the tiny white mutt did a flip, Dylan cheered loudly. Then he immediately wanted a dog, to which Rhys told him no.

  Rhys dismounted his destrier with the intention of collecting his younger brother; the lad was trying to negotiate to buy the little dog that had performed the flip. Elizabeau stayed mounted for a moment, watching the way Rhys moved; he stalked like a cat, a gait that was both powerful and frightening. It made her heart swell just to watch him. Attempting to distract herself from thoughts of him, she caught sight of a merchant stall off to her left and slid off of the charger. The fine products hanging outside of the stand had her interest and she made her way through the traffic towards it.

  Leather satchels had initially caught her eye and she inspected the bags that hung in the doorway. They were very finely made and she also inspected a pair of leather boots that were unfinished, just waiting for the right buyer so they could be tailored to the foot. Wandering further into the stall, she came across bolts of material stacked one atop the other. It smelled strongly of dust and fabric. She fingered her way through very fine linen, colorful tweeds and tartans, silks, and finally a pale lamb’s wool that was so soft, it was as if it were made from clouds. Elizabeau picked up the bundle of material, rubbing it against her cheek.

  “So you have found something already?”

  Rhys’ voice came from behind and she turned to look at him, her face still against the fabric. “Feel this,” she held it out and rubbed it against his cheek. “Isn’t that lovely?”

  His brilliant blue eyes never left her face. “Quite nice,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

  She turned back to the fabrics at hand, still holding on to the lamb’s wool as she fingered through the stacks. The merchant, now finished with the customer he had been helping, came to her aid; he had seen her enter the stall and sensed a big sale on the horizon. He made his way over to her, collecting two exquisite bolts of material as he went.

  “My lady,” he greeted her; he was a thin man with a balding head. “I see that you have excellent taste in fabric. Try these, as well.”

  He extended the bolts to her; one was a very fine and white Chainsil, usually used for pantalets and shifts, while the other was Samite, a luxurious blue twill that was both soft and heavy. She inspected both fabrics closely for both quality and defects.

  “Well,” she said indecisively. “I like the lamb’s wool and the Chainsil. If I purchase both, will you give me a good price?”

  The merchant beamed and Rhys stood back, watching her haggle with the old man. He found that he could not watch anything other than her, the charming way her nose wrinkled when she spoke or the graceful way in which her hands moved. When Dylan and Carys came barreling into the shop begging for coinage so that they could purchase sweets, he gave them a few coins and sent them along their way.

  His attention returned to Elizabeau as she concluded her business with the merchant, content to simply listen to the sound of her voice. It would have to be enough of a memory to last him a lifetime and he struggled with thoughts he knew he should not have. With business at an end, he finally paid the man and took the parcels. Elizabeau preceded him out into the afternoon sunshine.

  “Where are the horses?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “I took them to the stable around the way.”

  “Oh,” she looked around expectantly. “Where do we go now?”

  Rhys came up beside her, the parcels under one massive arm. He just gazed at her a moment before extending his other arm to her. She smiled faintly and took his elbow with both hands. When they resumed their walk, she laid her cheek on his enormous bicep and snuggled in close against his arm.

  Rhys didn’t say anything for a moment; he just continued walking, realizing that he liked nothing better than to have her on his arm. It made him feel whole. And it further occurred to him, more than ever, that his uncle had been the wiser when he had suggested turning the escort duty over to Rod. As much as he didn’t want to, that was as much as he knew he had to. He wondered how Elizabeau was going to react, although he already knew she wasn’t going to react well at all. But he had to convince her that it was for the best.

  Carys and Dylan came running at them, holding treats in their hands. Dylan was shoving pieces of candied apple into his mouth while Carys seemed to be fond of a bag of treats she was eagerly digging her fingers into.

  “The man has candied pum
pkin and boiled sugar,” Dylan said between bites; his mouth was so full that he was in danger of choking. “Can I have some candied pumpkin before we leave?”

  Rhys just shook his head at him, slapping him lightly on the side of the head. “If you don’t explode gorging yourself first, then I will take it under consideration.”

  “Rhys!” Carys was pulling on his arm. “That woman across the way has perfumed oils. Oh, please, can I please get some? Please?”

  Rhys opened his mouth to deny her but caught Elizabeau’s pleading expression and rethought his answer. He pursed his lips irritably at her, just to let her know he wasn’t pleased with the request or the fact that he knew she was silently begging on Carys’ behalf. Her reaction was to smile broadly at him. He just rolled his eyes.

  “I did not bring you two into town so you could put me into the poorhouse,” he snapped benignly at his brother and sister. “We came to purchase some needful things for… my wife, not to supply you two with enough treasures to provide for a small country.”

  Elizabeau took pity on Carys’ fallen expression. She reached out and stroked the lovely red hair. “A small vial of perfumed oil will not put you into the poorhouse,” she said, smiling at Carys’ now-hopeful expression. “I believe we can spare a few coins for such a thing.”

  Carys’ shrieked and grabbed Elizabeau by the hand, pulling her along as she danced across the avenue. Rhys couldn’t help but smile as he watched his sister drag Elizabeau towards the merchant stall. Dylan stood next to him, overloading on sweets, and Rhys shoved the two packages of material at him. The boy somehow managed to continue eating and hold two heavy bundles at the same time, trailing after his older brother as they followed the women.

  There were dozens of perfumed oils and pomades. While Elizabeau only smelled them, Carys began to rub everything on her arm. In short order, she was quite pungent and Dylan began to complain that it was making his head hurt. Insulted, Carys slapped Dylan on the arm but was prevented from doing further damage by Rhys, who took her by the shoulder and pushed her back towards the perfume vials. Elizabeau handed her one to distract her.

  “What do you think of this?” she asked Carys.

  Carys sniffed the vial, long and heavy. “It’s too strong. What is it?”

  “Hyacinth.” As Carys went back to the selection, Elizabeau held the vial up to Rhys. “I rather like it. What do you say?”

  Rhys’ brilliant blue eyes were riveted to her face, even as he took a sniff. “Sweet,” he said quietly. Like you. He wouldn’t say what he was thinking.

  In the end, Carys had three vials of perfumed oil and Elizabeau had a tub of fragrant pomade that was guaranteed to soothe the skin. Dylan wanted his candied pumpkin so Rhys gave him more money and the lad ran off. Rhys and the ladies wandered down the avenue until they came to the seamstress with pre-made garments, including several shifts that had only been basted together and were hung from the rafters for show. One was a long sleeved concoction of Chainsil, as delicate and soft as a spider’s web, and Elizabeau had the woman take it down from its hanger so she could see it. Other than the fact that it was too long, it looked as if it was the correct size. A second shift of finely combed and blue-dyed wool completed the purchase.

  Elizabeau and Rhys had spent a good deal of the afternoon interacting over trivial things but not speaking any more than necessary. By this time, Carys was catching on; it was difficult not to. She began to watch the interaction between her brother and his wife, wondering why they acted so strangely towards one another. The glances they would cast at each other would have caught fire to the nearest kindling, so hot were they. But their words were very superficial to the point of being disinterested. She looped her arm through Elizabeau’s as they made their way from the shop.

  “May I ask a question?” she said, leaning her cheek on Elizabeau’s shoulder and focusing on her with her big dark eyes.

  “Of course,” Elizabeau replied as she handed her package over to Rhys.

  “Do you love my brother?”

  Elizabeau looked at her, trying to suppress her shock. “Well,” she licked her lips, casting Rhys a long glance. “I… I suppose that I do.”

  “Did you love him at first sight or did it take time to develop?”

  “It took some time.”

  “So you did not love him the first time you saw him?”

  Elizabeau thought back to that stormy night, the enormous warrior covered in weapons and mail. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “Nay,” she replied quietly. “Not at first.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he was dressed for battle. He scared me to death.”

  Carys grinned as Rhys entered the conversation. “Your questions are quite personal, Carys,” he admonished quietly. “Perhaps Julianna does not wish to speak of it. Those are private memories meant only for the two of us.”

  Carys was still holding on to Elizabeau’s arm. “But I do not ask of a first kiss, only of the first glimpse. Why is that wrong?”

  “It is not,” Elizabeau insisted, smiling weakly at Rhys as she did so. “I do not mind speaking of the first time I saw your massive, frightening, warmongering brother.”

  Rhys’ eyebrows went up. “Warmongering?” he repeated sarcastically. “Pray, such kind words.”

  He and Elizabeau began to laugh at each other but Carys would not be left out. Whatever Rhys and his wife had, she wanted it, too. Or at least she wanted to know about it.

  “When did you know you loved him?” Carys insisted. “I mean, was it soon after you met? Was it when you were married? When?”

  Elizabeau’s smile faded, trying not to gaze dreamily at Rhys. Now the conversation was beginning to hurt. “It was probably shortly after we met,” she said with a slight shrug. “I cannot remember exactly when or how. It just… happened.”

  “But you did know.”

  “Aye, I did know.”

  Elizabeau averted her gaze from the young girl, fighting off the sorrow that threatened. But Carys continued to hold her arm, enraptured with the romance between her brother and his wife.

  “I hope that I know, too,” she sighed. “Perhaps he will be a handsome lord or prince and take me away to live with him in his castle. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  Rhys could see that Elizabeau did not wish to speak of it any longer. He could see that she was hurting, just as he was. That which they had been trying to avoid all afternoon was now more prevalent than ever. He peeled his sister off of Elizabeau.

  “Go and find Dylan,” he instructed. “You know where the man is located who sells candied pumpkin; he is probably still there. I am going to retrieve the horses and will meet you by the perfume merchant.”

  Carys nodded. “Can I have a few more coins in case there is something more I want?”

  Rhys growled and dug into the purse attached to his belt, pulling forth two more coins. “You’re going to get big and fat and no prince will want you.”

  Carys just grinned. Plopping the coins into her open palm, he watched her dash off across the avenue. When he was sure his sister was out of earshot, he turned to Elizabeau.

  She was standing a few feet away, gazing off into the crowded street. He walked up, standing so close to her that his body brushed against hers.

  “She’s just a curious young girl,” he murmured. “She does not mean any harm.”

  “I know.” Elizabeau continued to look off into the street. She suddenly closed her eyes and turned into him, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. “I do not think I can go through with this. God’s Bones, I become ill at the mere thought that what has come so easily to us can never be.”

  Against his better judgment, he put his arms around her. The action dangerously weakened the resolve he had been attempting so desperately to reinforce. The weaker his resolve became, the more tightly he gripped her.

  “I know well how you feel,” he murmured into the top of her head. “But we have been through this. You are my missi
on. That is all you can ever be.”

  She began to sob, gut-wrenching sighs that he felt clear through to his bones. “Not here, angel,” he whispered, giving her a squeeze and trying to force her to walk with him. “Stop your tears. You do not want Carys and Dylan to see you this way. They will think I’ve been cruel to you.”

  “You have,” she sobbed.

  His eyebrows furrowed gently. “What have I done?”

  She was pitiful. “You have made me fall in love with you.” She suddenly yanked away from him and he glimpsed the spitfire he had first come to know back at Hyde House. “Do you not realize how rare this is? People do not fall in love every day. It is a gift, something precious to be grateful for. And we are throwing it away.”

  He watched her rage, the charming little wrinkle of her nose when she spoke and the way her dark green eyes flashed. She was such an exquisite creature. When she finished spouting off and he was sure she wasn’t going to punch him, he pulled her back into his massive embrace again.

  “We are not throwing it away,” he soothed her gently, one enormous hand on her head and the other on her back. “What we have been given is a beautiful, unexpected treasure that we simply cannot keep. It does not make it any less valuable or revered. It makes it something to be remembered always, a warm reflection that no one can ever take away from us.”

  Her arms went tightly around him. “Rhys,” she murmured into his tunic. “Please… please let us go away from here. Let us go back to your father in France and live there. You can serve him and we can be together and raise a family. Why can we not do this?”

  He put his hands on her face, pulling her up to look at him. His fingers dwarfed her skull. “Because too many people are depending on you,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead. “Your uncle is swiftly directing this country and her barons to the brink of civil war. So many people hate him that his opposition grows by the day. Your brother Arthur was our only hope for salvation. Now that he is gone, we must pin our hopes on you. You know this, angel; this situation is bigger than the both of us.”