“Uncle Rhett,” he made his way over to the very old man, reaching up to grab the outstretched hand. “My God, ‘tis a miracle to see you. I thought for sure you would be dead by now.”
Rhett was indeed very old, and exceedingly weary from his long trip. He had not the energy at the moment to dismount his horse.
“Rhys,” he squeezed his nephew’s hand, tears in his old eyes. “The miracle is seeing you, lad. Up until six months ago, I thought you were dead.”
Rhys could feel tears of his own as he gazed up at his beloved uncle. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
“And I have missed you.”
Rhys just held on to his hand a moment, swallowing away the lump in his throat. He looked at Rod. “You told him?”
Rod nodded, standing next to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. “When John died and young Henry assumed the throne, I saw no reason to keep the secret from Rhett. In fact, there is really no reason to keep the secret at all. Elizabeau’s time has passed and we are in the era of a new king.”
Rhys looked seriously at him. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you? David could be in a great deal of trouble if it was known that he allowed Elizabeau and I to escape and then lied to cover our tracks.”
Rod waved him off. “It’s not like that, I assure you. I had David’s permission to tell Rhett. And someone else.”
Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Someone else? Who else?”
“Me.”
The third member of the party made himself known. Rhys turned to see the man remove his helm and he was struck by the dark hair and brilliant blue eyes facing him. It was a young man, no more than seventeen, very handsome, and Rhys suddenly felt his knees go weak. The lump in his throat returned full force. He stared at the young man, knowing him on sight. Twelve years could not erase the memory of that little face he had left behind, now grown and strong before him.
“Greetings, Father,” the young man said quietly. “Do you remember me?”
Rhys couldn’t help it; he put his hand over his heart, hearing his son’s voice for the first time in twelve years. Tears sprang to his eyes as he moved to the young man, gazing up into his handsome face.
“Of course I remember you,” he said hoarsely. “I have seen you every night in my dreams for twelve years.”
Maddoc du Bois smiled timidly at the man he barely remembered, but there was no mistaking the emotion that flowed between them. His father had been something of an icon to him his entire life. Setting his helm on the pommel of the saddle, he dismounted the horse and realized, when he came to stand, that he was slightly taller than his father. His smile grew; so did Rhys’. After a few moments’ hesitation, they threw their arms around each other.
Rhys had tears streaming down his face as he held his son. He never wanted to let him go. But he released him after several long moments, stepping back and holding the young man’s face between his hands, inspecting him closely. He had grown to look a good deal like him and Rhys smiled as the tears continued to fall.
“I have dreamt of this moment more than you can know,” he murmured. “I am sorry, Maddoc. Sorry that I had to leave you. But given the circumstances, it was better that you stayed with your grandmother. I could not take the chance that you would come into danger, too.”
Maddoc nodded his head, tears of his own muddying his vision. “I know,” he tried to sound braver than he felt. “Uncle Rod told me everything. I must admit, I was shocked. I had grown up thinking you were dead. I feel… I feel like I have been reborn somehow and given a second chance to know you. How many sons can say that?”
He was so well spoken; Rhys felt his heart swell with pride. He couldn’t help himself; he kissed the boy on both cheeks as he released him.
“Not many,” he wiped at the tears on his face, still staring at him, unable to take his eyes from him. But his gaze eventually moved to the armor the young man wore and it looked vaguely familiar. He touched it. “This armor… I believe I know it.”
“You do,” Rod stepped forward and clapped Maddoc on the shoulder. “This is the armor you left behind when you fled with Elizabeau those years ago. We gave it to Maddoc. We did not think you would mind.”
Rhys shook his head, sniffling away the last of his tears. “I do not, of course,” he said. “Are you a knight, then?”
Maddoc nodded proudly. “I was sworn in after the new year. I serve Christopher de Lohr.”
Rhys stared at him. “De Lohr?”
“Because of you, he accepted my fealty as a legacy.”
Rod stuck his nose into the conversation again. “Do not let him fool you,” he said. “The lad is a marvelous knight, just as his father was. Just look at him; he’s big and strong, and he has your quiet wisdom. He’s quite remarkable; de Lohr couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.”