He decided right then that he had to get back to his brother to inform him of what he had discovered. Just as he was preparing to mount, the sharp point of a broadsword jabbed him in the unprotected spot between his back plate and chest armor. It was a vulnerable spot and David immediately put up his hands in surrender.
“Keep your hands in the air,” a heavy Germanic accent commanded softly. “I have seen you fight. I know what you can do with a sword.”
David knew it was the man he had trailed and silently cursed himself for being stupid enough to have gotten caught. “I am at your mercy,” he said steadily. “May I at least turn around to face you?”
After several long seconds, David could feel the broadsword removed and he turned to the man. It was one of Conrad’s generals, a tall man with long blond hair and a thin face. David didn’t even know the man’s name for he had been one of the more silent men in Conrad’s retinue. Yet the man was not silent tonight.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly. “Why did you follow me?”
David, hands still up, cocked an eyebrow. “That should be obvious. What are you doing riding to Ludlow in the middle of the night?”
The blond knight raised both eyebrows in response to David’s somewhat accusing question. “Following the man you sent to Ludlow. Tell me why you have sent him here.”
David’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean Rhys? You know very well why the man was sent on ahead.”
The tall knight shook his head slowly. “Do not take me for an idiot, my lord,” he said. “You know very well that I speak of the second man.”
“Second man?” David scowled. “What are you talking about?”
The sword tip was back in David’s gut. “I told you not to take me for an idiot. I followed your knight to this place. He rode in less than an hour ago and no one stopped him. So I stand here and wait for him to come out, eh?”
David eyed the sword in his belly. “I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” he said steadily. “I did not send a second knight to Ludlow tonight. You must be mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken,” he replied. “The prince saw him, too. We want to know what de Lohr is doing and not telling us.”
An inkling of concern flickered in David’s eye as he watched the man speak. He was clearly sincere with his statement, of that he was certain. He believed what he was saying which made David entertain the thought that perhaps the man wasn’t mad after all.
“We have not done anything that the prince has not been fully informed of,” he said, eyeing the man for a moment. “This… this second knight. Did you recognize him?”
The tall knight nodded. “The mean one.”
“Mean one?”
“He is the big man with white hair. You call him Lawrence.”
David stared at him. Then, his brow furrowed with disbelief. “You saw Lawrence ride from Lioncross tonight?”
The Teutonic knight nodded. “He went into Ludlow.”
“Are you sure? There is no mistake?”
“We have served with this man for three months. We know his horse, his armor. It was him.”
David had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from dropping. He simply could not believe what he was hearing. Lawrence and Christopher had served under King Richard in The Levant together and had been as close as brothers for years. But Lawrence’s wife had died in childbirth while he had been on the great quest and Lawrence had not been the same man since. He had been quiet, moody, and as the Teutonic knight said, mean. And now he was apparently no longer the Lawrence they all knew. He was turning. Perhaps he already had turned.
David felt sick. His hands came down and he looked away from Conrad’s knight, utterly ill by what he was hearing. Suddenly, a great deal seemed to make sense and he put his hands over his face as if to wipe away the horrifying knowledge. Since the day they had taken charge of the lady, John’s men had kept pace with them with few exceptions. They were always turning up and David had always known there had been a traitor in their midst, although he could never guess who it was. Now, he realized that he knew.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “Is it possible? Was it Lawrence all the time?”
“What was all the time?”
David looked at the warrior, knowing he could never explain it all. In fact, he was embarrassed to; he was embarrassed to admit that the great Christopher de Lohr had a traitor in his midst and it had been someone very close, someone with access to confidential information. Lawrence had known everything. He still knew everything.
Now he was in Ludlow with Rhys, Radcliffe and Lady Elizabeau. He was undoubtedly there to blow Rhys’ cover and there wasn’t a damn thing David could do about it, at least not at the moment. Still, the very thought brought terror and fury all at once. Rhys was in for a betrayal of the greatest magnitude where his life, and that of the lady’s, would hang in the balance. David could not undo what Lawrence had done, but he could do his very best to prevent what he could. Yet he needed help. He began to feel a sense of desperation and determination like he had never experienced before.
“What is your name?” David finally asked the man.
“Geist.”
David gestured to the sword still near his gut. “Geist, if you put that down, I will tell you everything you need to know. And I swear it will be the truth.”
Geist eyed him a moment before lowering the sword. “Speak, then.”
David told him all of it.
*
Lewis was standing in the foyer when Rhys descended the stairs, tricky business considering he had Elizabeau clinging to his torso. It threw his balance off and he was terrified that he was going to fall and land atop her. The event of de Lacy’s captain standing in his path was not something he had bargained for and he struggled to remain calm as he came face to face with the man. It began to concern him that Lewis was looking at him strangely but he attributed that to his anxiety. Mayhap he was imagining things.
Lewis just stood there, looking at him for a very long time. Then, he nodded his head slightly. “Well,” he said slowly. “Did you see the lady?”
Rhys nodded. “I did, my lord. I explained the way of things to her.”
“I see,” Lewis began to eye him strangely again. “What did you tell her?”
Rhys was becoming increasingly uneasy as the captain’s gaze moved over him. “I explained the event of the sword stroke; the first is meant to kill, the second to separate her head from her body. She will feel momentary pain but it should be over quickly.”
Lewis wasn’t looking at his face; he was looking at his big torso. “Do you believe that?”
“Believe what, my lord?”
“That the pain is momentary?”
For reasons he could not explain, Rhys’ palms began to sweat. Something in the way that Lewis was looking at him. “In truth, I do not,” he replied. “I believe there is still consciousness after the head is separated from the body. I had one man, a marquis, actually try to speak. His eyes remained open and his mouth moving for several minutes after the job was completed.”
Lewis was still focused on his torso, the size of his enormous hands. Then, his gaze returned to his face. “Enough of the games,” he said quietly. “You are Rhys du Bois and you are not here to execute the lady. You are here to take her.”
To his credit, Rhys didn’t change his expression even though his heart slammed against his ribs. He could hear the blood pulsing through his ears. How does he know this? He began to think that Edward had somehow betrayed him even though the man had never been out of his sight. Somehow, someway, he had been betrayed. But by whom? He continued to gaze impassively at Lewis who, oddly enough, did not seem particularly enraged. He seemed almost calm about it. Rhys was about to reply when a man entered the foyer from the solar off to the left; Rhys caught the movement and looked to see who it was. Even then, his face did not change expression. Even when he knew that he was as good as dead.
Lawrence de Beckett stood
just outside the solar door, his white-blue eyes focused intently on Rhys. Without a word, Lawrence walked up to him, focusing on the man who was at least a head taller than he. As he moved, soldiers emerged from the shadows, armed to the teeth. Rhys counted at least eight; there were more behind him, he was sure. The closer they loomed, the more his heart sank. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
Lawrence paused in front of him, gazing steadily into his brilliant blue eyes. There was much more in his eyes than words could ever express, a painful symphony of unspoken language that told Rhys everything he needed to know. It was heartbreaking to be a party to the betrayal at hand. When Lawrence spoke, it was to Lewis.
“You had better have someone check to make sure the lady is in her room,” he said. “And you had better bring Radcliffe down here. He is a part of this.”
At Lewis’ directive, four soldiers went bolting up the stairs. Lawrence remained fixed on Rhys.
“Are they going to find her up there?” he asked quietly. “Or are they wasting their time?”
Beneath the cloak, Elizabeau was in darkness. But she could hear some of what was being said, or at least she could make out a few words of it. She had heard Lewis’ voice, soft and deep, and then a second voice she did not recognize. She knew that Rhys had been stopped and she was struggling to maintain her grip around the man; she literally had her arms and legs wrapped around him, squeezing him with all her might in a strong effort to hang on. He had his double-scabbard on his back and the straps that crisscrossed his torso made good leverage to hold on to, but with her sweating palms, her grip was beginning to slip.
She was anxious to begin with, but with her sweating palms and slipping grip, she was beginning to panic. Why was Rhys still standing there, talking to the enemy? Why wasn’t he moving? She tried to tighten her grip and poke him in the ribs at the same time, prodding him to move on. But the man remained still. And her grip continued to slip.
Rhys could feel her poking at him, knowing she probably couldn’t hear much under the heavy cloak. And he could also feel her slipping, slowly but surely, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to help her. If he tried, it would draw attention to her and he was trying to keep their attention diverted. And for the moment, his attention was riveted to Lawrence in disbelief and shock.
“Do I know you, my lord?” Rhys tried to maintain the illusion, perhaps casting doubt back on Lawrence in the eyes of those around them. Perhaps if he bluffed enough…. “Have we met?”
Lawrence smiled wryly. “Many times, my old friend,” he replied. Then he shook his head. “It is of no use, Rhys. The captain knows who you are and why you are here. Make it easy on yourself and on the lady.”
“Make what easy, my lord?”
Lawrence lifted his white eyebrows. “You are outnumbered, Rhys. The battle is over. Your mission is finished.”
Rhys began to feel sick. The weight of betrayal was weighing more heavily down on him, pressing him, causing his stomach to churn and his heart to twist painfully. He was still having trouble grasping it even though he knew that, for all intents and purposes, he had been captured. And Elizabeau with him. But he would not go down without a fight.
In a flash, a massive hand shot out and he grabbed Lawrence around the neck. The soldiers surrounding him unleashed their broadswords to the deadly hum of metal but Lawrence shouted.
“Nay!” he bellowed to the men, his face growing red as Rhys gradually cut off his blood supply. He focused on the man with his hand around his neck. “Kill me and I can assure you that the lady will be dealt with in the most painful way possible. Is that what you wish?”
Rhys stared at him, his jaw flexing dangerously. After an eternity of gazing into white-blue eyes, Rhys knew that Lawrence meant what he said. God help him, he knew that he was cornered. They were all cornered. The only thing that prevented him from attempting to fight his way out of the predicament was the lady attached to his torso. Were it not for her, he would have already spilled blood. Surrender began to slowly overtake him, knowing he had no choice but to lay down his arms. He couldn’t take the chance that Elizabeau would be injured or killed in the melee that would surely ensue if he were to resist. God help him, he knew it was over.
Slowly, he released Lawrence and watched the big knight step back and take a big, blustery breath. Around his waist, Elizabeau suddenly slipped and he grabbed her before she could fall to the ground. Surrendering to the inevitable, he focused on gently lowering her to the ground and removing the cloak from around her head. He wouldn’t look at anything, or anyone, else but her.
When the messy golden-red hair came into focus, the first thing Elizabeau saw was Rhys’ pale face.
“What has happened?” she asked him before she looked around. Then, she caught sight of a few soldiers at his back with their swords drawn and she yelped with fright, whirling around to find herself face to face with Lewis. She instinctively pressed back against Rhys. “What… what goes on here?”
Lewis was looking at her with his usual impassive expression. “It would seem, my lady, that this escape attempt has failed also.”
Elizabeau realized what had happened without benefit of explanation. In fact, the reasons didn’t matter; all that mattered was that she and Rhys had been discovered and she felt the bile rise in her throat. Angry faces and swords glared back at her. She pressed herself more tightly against Rhys, feeling his arms around her. She couldn’t help the terrified tears that filled her eyes.
“I am to blame for this,” she said, struggling not to cry. “You will not harm this man. I forced him to help me.”
“My lady,” Lewis said politely. “How we deal with traitors is none of your affair. You still have two hours until dawn; I suggest you use it wisely.”
A couple of the soldiers reached out to grab her but she screamed. Rhys went for his swords but Lawrence and Lewis were on him, forcing him to defend both himself and Elizabeau without benefit of a weapon. A fist to Lewis’ face drove the red-haired knight onto his arse while Lawrence proved to be a bit more of a challenge, but he was able to shove Lawrence back while simultaneously regaining possession of Elizabeau. Instead of clinging to him, as he expected, she unsheathed a dirk at his waist and used it on a soldier who tried to grab her again. She severed a finger and the man howled as he fell away. Rhys ripped away his cloak and unsheathed both of the broadswords on his back.
The dual blades whirled through the air, faster than the eye could track. Faint light glistened off them, creating an odd streaming effect in the darkness of the entry. It was like watching swirls of death, singing an unearthly howl, inviting the first victim to step forward. But there were no takers at the moment; not one man wanted to walk into that hell.
“You’ll not take her from me,” Rhys was focused on Lawrence, his back to a corner near the keep entry and Elizabeau partially behind him. “I never took you for a fool until now, de Beckett. Like de Lohr, I trusted you. I would have never suspected you to be the traitor in our midst.”
Lawrence was holding up his hands to the dozen armed soldiers filling the entry, preventing them from charging the knight. He had seen Rhys in battle and knew the man would more than likely kill all of them if given half a chance. And given the fact that he was protecting the lady, it made him as ferocious as a mother bear which made the situation extremely precarious. Lawrence didn’t want to have a massacre on his hands if he could at all help it. He had to think quickly in order to diffuse the situation.
“Traitor is a harsh word,” he said after a moment. “I had little choice in the matter.”
Rhys didn’t lower the blades. “There is always a choice. You seem to have made a very bad one.”
Lawrence shook his head, eyeing Lewis for a moment before taking a step closer to Rhys. “If I were you, I would not judge so harshly,” he said in a low voice. “A man who has fallen in love with a woman he can never have is in no position to judge. You have broken every knightly vow you swore an oath to, du Bois. Do not be so
critical of others facing the same dilemma.”
Rhys wasn’t moved. “What are you talking about?”
Lawrence stared at him, torn between defiance and sorrow. He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he pondered an answer.
“My son,” he finally said softly, so no one could hear him clearly. “They have my son. I was given no choice.”
Rhys just stared at him. “Your son, Richard?”
Lawrence nodded, averting his gaze. “He is seven years old now, fostering at Kenilworth when the king’s agents seized him. So I did what I did to save my son. You would have done the same.”
Rhys began to feel some of his rage ease. “Then help me now and let us go save your son together,” he hissed. “Help me get Elizabeau out of this place. It does not have to be this way, Lawrence.”
“Aye, it does,” Lewis stepped forward, wiping the blood from his nose where Rhys had punched him. It was apparent that his patience was waning. “Since this outpost is under my command until de Lacy’s return, it is my directive that you and your lady shall suffer the same fate. Lower your weapons and I will give you and the lady the last two hours until dawn together. Refuse and I shall have my men overwhelm you both and kill you where you stand. I am at an end with my mercy, du Bois. Make your choice.”
He had the manpower to do it; Rhys knew that. He could feel Elizabeau’s body against his back, trembling, and he knew that he could not stand by and watch her hacked to death by careless broadswords. His hands suddenly began to shake and his head to swim, knowing that, for the moment, they were defeated. He had to buy some time to figure things out; even two hours might help him figure out a way to get them out of this predicament. And he did not want to lose that chance, not when it was the difference between life and death for Elizabeau and their child.
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