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.”