“Do you remember the night we met?” Elizabeau soft voice invaded his restless thoughts. “Do you remember how I hid from you for over an hour?”
Rhys had been standing near the cell door, trying to listen to any conversation outside in the gatehouse. He turned to look at her; she was seated on the cold stone of the vault, her arms wrapped around her legs to stay warm. The expression on her face warmed his heart, causing the pains of desperation that he was trying so desperately to stave off to throb in his chest. He ignored them.
“I remember,” he said softly. “And you did not hide very well. I knew where you were the entire time.”
She pouted like a child. “You did not.”
“I confess, I did.”
She made a face at him. “You think you’re so clever.”
He laughed softly at her as she fussed; it was great fun watching her fuss and he moved away from the door. When he reached her, he extended his big arms. “Get off the floor, angel,” he pulled her to her feet, sat down, and seated her on his lap. “You do not belong on the dirty stone.”
She curled up on his big legs, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. For a moment, they simply sat there, feeling each other’s life and warmth. Neither one wanted to think that these would be the last few stolen moments that they would ever know. The mere idea was too painful to entertain. For Elizabeau, the pressure was eventually too much to take and she ran her fingers through his dark hair, burying her face in the side of his head.
“Please tell me that we have not come to the end of all things,” she murmured. “Tell me we will live to see the sun set. Tell me that we will live to see our son born.”
He sighed faintly, pulling her closer. “I promise that I will do all in my power to make it so, I swear it.”
She had her face in against his hair. After a moment, he could feel her shaking with sobs. It was the first time since they had been locked up in the vault that she had succumbed to her fear. She was struggling not to be obvious about it, but he knew. He kissed her forehead, feeling her shake.
“No tears,” he murmured. “Tears are a sign of surrender and I refuse to believe that you have given up so easily. That is not the Elizabeau I know.”
She struggled with her tears. “I am not giving up,” she whispered, wiping at her nose. “But I will admit that I am scared. Rhys, I do not want to watch you die. What if they kill you first and I must watch? My God, I cannot imagine such a horrible….”
He cut her off with swift, gentle kisses. “Instead of thinking of what might happen, we should think of a way out of this. We must plan another escape attempt, something you must be vastly experienced at by now.”
His attempt at humor brought a weak smile. “I haven’t been very good at it so far.”
He smiled at her. “Those were all practice attempts. Now that we know what will not work, it should be easier to figure out what will.”
“You make it sound simpler than it is. How on earth can we get out of this place?”
Rhys was silent a moment, caressing her gently as he thought on his reply. “We have not seen Radcliffe since our capture,” he said quietly. “There is hope that the man has eluded arrest. Perhaps he is already plotting our escape.”
Elizabeau gazed at him steadily. “Do you really believe that?”
“It is possible.”
She sighed with disagreement. “He is more than likely dead or imprisoned as we are. Edward does not think quickly on his feet. I know; I have been confined with the man for months and he does not think well for himself. I do not believe you can depend on him to help us.”
“Then what would you suggest?” he asked, though he didn’t really mean it. “For I am considering anything at this point.”
She thought a moment, pondering the many thoughts that had been rolling through her mind for the better part of an hour. One thought above all loomed heavily and she chose to voice it. She felt marginally foolish for doing so, because she wasn’t a seasoned knight as Rhys was, but she spoke nonetheless. Perhaps the most obvious solution was the best one.
“While you have been thinking of escaping with violence and force, I have been thinking of a more powerful avenue,” she said quietly. “I am thinking of asking the Church to intervene. As much as they hate my uncle, I am hoping they will support my cause and stay the execution. Especially since I carry a child, they might be particularly supportive.”
Rhys gazed into her lovely face, nodding slowly as she finished her statement. In truth, it made a good deal of sense and he was surprised that he had not thought of it.