Fathers and Sons

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He stood near the hearth, his massive arms folded across his chest and head lowered as he listened to the distant yelling. David sat at the table close to him while Lawrence simply paced around, trying to make some sense out of the screaming for himself. Rhys’ family was nowhere to be found; when he had returned from Llandogo with de Lohr in tow, Rhett had made some excuse to the family and they had all fled. Rhys was glad; he didn’t want them to be privy to the chaos unfolding. He commended his decision to tell his uncle everything.

  “She is a beautiful woman,” David’s quiet voice interrupted his tumultuous thoughts. “ ’Tis not as if we blame you. But on a mission of this importance….”

  Rhys put up a quelling hand. “I am well aware of the mission,” he said. “I am also well aware of what is at stake, of who she is, of who I am, and everything else that pertains to this task. I’m not an idiot, David.”

  “Nay, you are not,” Lawrence said from across the room. “But you have crossed the line.”

  Rhys’ head snapped up, the brilliant blue eyes blazing. “And how would you know that?” he snapped in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “How would you know anything of what has transpired over the past several days?”

  Lawrence put up his hands to cool the big man. “I did not mean it as it sounded. I simply meant that you crossed the line by feeling something for your ward. You are a man, Rhys; ’tis natural to feel something for a beautiful woman. But you knew better in this case. You knew she was out of your reach.”

  Rhys’ jaw was ticking and he turned back to the hearth; he knew that Lawrence and David were not judging him. He had known them both a long time and they knew his character. But he felt as if he had failed somehow.

  “I know she is,” he reached out, slapping a hand against the mantle as he gazed into the fire. There was lethargy and anguish to his movements. “If anyone knows it, I certainly do.”

  “Then what in the hell happened?” Lawrence asked, almost beseechingly.

  Rhys could only shake his head, like a man who was losing his mind. “Nothing has happened. Nothing at all.”

  They were so focused on Rhys that they hadn’t realized the screaming upstairs had stopped. Lawrence opened his mouth to reply but Christopher suddenly entered the hall, his sky-blue eyes riveted to Rhys. He walked right up to the man and planted himself next to him.

  “Now I will hear your side of this,” he said as calmly as he could. “The lady has told me her version. What have you to say about what I saw out there on the avenue?”

  Rhys faced de Lohr; he wasn’t as tall as his liege, but he was wider. He did not fear the man nor did he back down. He reverted to the non-emotional, professional persona that they had all come to associate with Rhys du Bois. This was the perfect killing machine, the man who was swayed by nothing and feared nothing. It was still difficult for any of them to believe what they had seen in Llandogo.

  “The lady was upset about her impending future, my lord,” Rhys said honestly. “As you know, she tends to become overly emotional. What you saw were my attempts to comfort her.”

  Christopher’s nostrils flared, not a good sign. David even stood up, moving closer to Rhys in case his brother decided to physically demonstrate his frustration. They all knew that Christopher was angry; he had every right to be. Now was the time for total truth from Rhys or the situation would go from bad to worse.

  “You have never lied to me and I do not expect you to start now,” Christopher said after a moment. “But know this, du Bois; I had been watching you and the lady for several minutes before you saw me. I saw you embrace her quite intimately on a few occasions and I clearly did not imagine the tender expressions that passed between you. I believe there was even a kiss at some point. I will not permit you to tell me that nothing has transpired between you and Lady Elizabeau. You will tell me the entire truth now.”

  Rhys gazed steadily at him. After a moment, he took a long, heavy breath and lowered his gaze in defeat. “The lady and I have professed our love to one another,” he said quietly. “It only happened today and we are both quite clear on the fact that it can go no further. We both understand her destiny and pledge to fulfill it. She is upset because she is my mission; that is all she can ever be.”

  “You have not compromised her in any way?”

  “I swear on my life that I have not.”

  Christopher seemed to calm somewhat. He looked at Rhys, studying the man, attempting to discern if he was being totally truthful with him. But he had known Rhys du Bois for eight years and had never known him to be anything other than the perfect knight. But even men of perfection were allowed a weakness now and again. After a moment, he emitted a blustery sigh and moved to the nearest bench. He lowered his bulk wearily.

  “That is what the lady told me, more or less,” he removed his gauntlets and scratched at his forehead. “However, she took it one step further; she told me that she cannot go through with this marriage. As of now, she refuses to go to Ogmore and marry her prince. I cannot force her. This, unfortunately, creates a bit of a situation. If she truly refuses, then our resistance against King John is at an end. England will be resigned to her fate and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it. Our quest for a better king and country is over.”

  Rhys stared at him for several long moments, knowing that this was his fault. “I have failed you, my lord,” he said quietly. “I took this mission with the utmost intention of performing flawlessly. Even now, I will complete it to the best of my abilities. If you want the lady to marry her prince, then let me talk to her. She will listen to me.”

  De Lohr looked at him. “Rhys, she’s in love with you,” he said with more gentleness in his tone. “If anyone understands that, I do. I fell in love with a spitfire of a woman who has become my all for living. If I could not be with her, I would wither away and die. So, you see, I understand this situation all too well and perhaps that is why I am so frustrated. One cannot adequately fight a matter of the heart.”

  Rhys felt strangely akin to de Lohr at the moment; finding a man who had known true love was rare. And he knew his frustration well; he had been feeling a good deal of it himself. But it didn’t change things.

  “If you were facing this situation, my lord, what would you do?” he asked.

  Christopher lifted an eyebrow. Then, he snorted. “Do you want an honest answer?”

  Rhys nodded. “Put yourself in my position. If it were Lady Dustin destined to marry a prince and you were forced to escort her to this marriage that would change the course of a country, what would you do?”

  Christopher was silent a moment, his sky-blue eyes staring off into the hearth as he lost himself in thought. He thought of his petite wife with an enormous mane of golden hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. “Complete my mission,” he said slowly. “And be miserable the rest of my life.”

  “That is what I intend to do as well.”

  De Lohr wiped a weary hand over his face, looking up at Rhys as he did so. There was something of doubt, anger and sorrow in his expression. “Of all my men, I would have never expected this to happen to you,” he said after a moment. “You are my rock, du Bois. But even rocks can crack. You did not fail me, lad. But you did surprise me.”

  “I surprised myself, my lord.”

  Over to their left, David snorted ironically. Even Lawrence smirked. Christopher glanced at his brother, his knight, before refocusing on Rhys. The mood of the room, now that understanding had settled, grew less heady.

  “Do you really love her, Rhys? Or is she just an infatuation? I refuse to believe you’re simply making sport of her.”

  “I love her with all my heart, my lord.”

  De Lohr grunted, wriggling his eyebrows at his brother as he did so. His movements seemed more apologetic now that things were clear. “She is due at Ogmore in a few days,” he said. “Perhaps you should go and talk to her. If you can still complete this mission, then you deserve all of my faith and support. It is a terrible thing to
say, all things considered, but it all rests on you.”

  Rhys didn’t say another word. He left Christopher, David and Lawrence in the great hall and mounted the stairs to the second floor. Elizabeau’s chamber was at the end of the hall and he knocked softly. He had to do it twice more before the door finally creaked open.

  Elizabeau peered up at him with red-rimmed eyes. She had a guarded expression and seemed to be disinterested in his presence, but after several long seconds of remaining firm, she dissolved into tears. Rhys entered the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

  “Calm yourself,” he said softly, taking her by the shoulders and leading her over to the bed. “Sit down. We have much to speak of.”

  She sobbed into her hand as he gently pushed her to sit. He went looking for a chair but she stopped him.

  “S-sit with me,” she sobbed softly. “Put your arms around me and tell me that everything will be all right.”

  He stared at her, his heart breaking, before forcing himself to go in search of a chair. It was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. He planted the chair in front of the bed and sat stiffly. When she saw that he had no intention of holding her, her sobs grew deeper.

  “My lady,” he tried to sound firm. “You must stop weeping. We have very serious matters to discuss.”

  “I will not marry the prince,” she wept. “I will not go to Ogmore. You and I are going to be married and raise a dozen children and live our lives together.”

  He took a long, deep breath, praying for courage. “Nay, we are not,” he said. “Because I am not going to marry you. I am leaving as soon as my brother arrives and you will continue on to Ogmore, marry your prince, and fulfill your destiny.”

  Her head came up, her expression laced with shock. “You… you will not marry me? What nonsense is this?”

  It was a lie, such a bold-faced lie. It took all of his strength not to break down as he spoke it. “No nonsense, I assure you,” he replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained as he felt. “You have a destiny that I am not a part of. What we feel now, at this moment, will be a memory soon enough. We will recover from this momentary madness. But England will not recover if you do not fulfill your duty. There is no negotiation on this, Elizabeau. You will do what you are told and so will I.”

  Her tears had stopped and she just stared at him. “Does your sense of duty mean more than I do?”

  He almost choked on his words, but it was necessary. “Aye.”

  “Swear this to me, Rhys. Swear to me that your sense of duty means more than being with the woman you love.”

  “I swear it.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  “It is the truth.”

  Every word was like a dagger into her heart, pounding deeper and deeper. The pain was greater than tears. The deep green eyes fixed on him, the light in them dulling as his words sank in.

  “De Lohr,” she finally hissed. “He’s threatened you somehow. He has forced you to say such things.”

  Rhys shook his head. “There is no man alive that can force me to do something I do not want to do. You must understand that what we feel for each other was never meant to be. It should not be. It cannot be. You must marry your prince and I must go on with my life.”

  “But I do not want to marry the prince. I want to marry you!”

  “If you do not marry the prince, then you will be alone. I will not marry you.”

  “Are you saying you do not love me? That it was just a frivolous thing to be carelessly treated, carelessly discarded?”

  “I will not waste my time on something that can never be.”

  All of her tears were gone, replaced by shock and devastation. He sounded so cold, so hard, and she was coming to feel like the biggest fool in the world. She simply couldn’t believe it, not after the words they had shared that afternoon. Had it all been a joke to him? Unable to think of anything more to say, shattered to the bone by his words, she simply turned away.

  Rhys sat there, gazing at the back of her reddish-gold hair, thinking that never in his life had he ever said anything that hurt him so badly. He loved her more with every breath he took. But she had to understand what her duty was and he could think of no other way to convince her. Being soft with her hadn’t worked; maybe if he could convince her to hate him, she would do as she must. He could see no other way.

  Silently, he rose from the chair and moved it back where he had found it. He didn’t even bother looking back at her as he moved to the door, terrified that if he did so he would break and fall to his knees, begging her forgiveness. His big hand fell on the latch.

  “I will tell de Lohr that you are ready to move on to Ogmore,” he wasn’t able to keep the dullness from his tone. “My brother should be here in a couple of days. I will inform de Lohr that Rod will take you on to Ogmore when he arrives.”

  He waited a moment for her to reply but she did not. He could feel her anguish radiating out to him and it nearly destroyed him. Clenching his teeth, his hands, he quit the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He couldn’t stand what he had just done. But it had been necessary, he kept telling himself. It had to be.

  Halfway down the stairwell, he put his fist through the wall.

  *

  Elizabeau had been at Whitebrook for five days; five of the longest, most miserable days of her life. Even now, as she sat in the kitchen yard under a big poplar tree and watched the goats in the distance, her senses were dull and her heart was in pieces. She simply didn’t care about anything any longer, her mission or her life included. Everything about her was dead.

  Rhys had been around as a constant reminder to her pain, hovering nearby wherever she was simply because he was assigned to protect her. He would only speak to her when absolutely necessary. When she slept, she slept alone although he would come into the room late at night, sleep in a chair, and then leave before she rose. As far as his family knew, they were still married. Nothing had changed on that front. But it was apparent to all that something had changed since de Lohr’s visit. The light had gone out of both Elizabeau and Rhys.

  Christopher and his knights had left almost as soon as they had arrived, continuing on their journey to Ogmore Castle. Staying at Whitebrook would have attracted too much attention and it was best that they move on to the enormous concentric fortress that was a two-day ride from Whitebrook. Any of John’s assassins that had managed to trail them would focus on de Lohr and hopefully draw any attention away from Rhys and Whitebrook. Rhys had assured de Lohr that the lady would make her rendezvous with her prince, so there was nothing left to do but to go to Ogmore and wait for her to arrive.

  It was a lovely November day, if not a bit cool. Elizabeau sat in the shade of the tree, trembling with chill but not noticing. She was focused on what was to become of her, marrying a man she did not know and commanding an army on two continents that would put her upon the throne of England. It all seemed like a dream, so far away and awful. She wasn’t even sure any of this was real any longer. All she knew was that her life was in ruins, more than she could have ever dreamed.

  Lost in thought, she was startled when someone put a cloak around her shoulders. She looked up to see Rhett standing next to her, leaning heavily on his cane as he tried to adjust the cloak. When he saw that her attention was on him, he smiled weakly.

  “ ’Tis cold here in the shade,” he said. “I would not want to see you catch a chill.”

  She didn’t know what to say to the old man. She couldn’t even muster the strength to thank him. Pulling the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, her attention returned to the farm animals several yards away.

  Rhett didn’t leave. He continued to stand next to her, his gaze moving between her pale face and the objects of her attention. He leaned heavily on his cane, trying to think of something to say that would not be too trite or too heady. He knew what was going on; Rhys had confided in him the previous night after too much drink. They both agreed it had been the best course
of action for him to take at the time. But for as miserable as the lady was, Rhys was far worse. His façade was as emotionless as always, but inside, he was crushed.

  Even now, Rhys sat several yards away just within the line of sight of the rear yard where the lady was, pretending to work on a piece of armor by fooling with the straps. It was a greave, the heavy armor that went against his lower legs. Rhett knew that there was nothing wrong with it; Rhys just didn’t want to sit idle. He was more than likely afraid that if his hand or mind was not occupied, he would inevitably gravitate towards the lady and to do so would be very bad for the both of them. So he fiddled with the leather and tried not to brood.

  “Rhys tells me that you have lived in London for the past several years,” Rhett began the conversation safely enough. “I’ve not been to London in quite some time. I would imagine it has changed some since the days of the king’s father.”

  Elizabeau sat there a moment, wrapped in the strange cloak, watching the goats eat pieces of the wooden chicken coop. “I would not know, my lord. I can only tell you that it has not changed overly in the past fifteen years.”

  “Your family is from Cornwall, is it not?”

  “Indeed. But I left Cornwall with my mother when I was three. We have lived in London ever since.”

  Rhett hoped to keep her talking, at least hoping to bring some life back to her. “And your mother? Is she still alive?”

  Elizabeau finally looked at the old man, trying to figure out why he was suddenly solicitous. For days he had hardly said a word to her.

  “She is,” she replied.

  “I imagine she is a beauty such as you.”

  Elizabeau shrugged, turning back to the chomping goats. “My mother and I have had little to do with each other since I was born. She attends her charities and her entertainments and gathers with friends, but has never had much time for her only child.”

  Rhett lowered his bulk down onto the edge of a wall that was half-demolished; Renard had intended to extend it last spring and had even knocked down several stones, but that was as far as it went. Now it was about hip-high and perfect for sitting.