“Lady Elizabeau Treveighan,” he greeted her calmly. “Allow me to explain the situation to you. You are in serious jeopardy. As the daughter of Geoffrey of Brittany and now the only surviving child that is not in captivity with the passing of your half-brother Arthur, you are the target of your Uncle John’s madness because you have been declared Arthur’s successor to the throne. Do you understand this, my lady?”
Even angry, she was a delectable little doll. Her sweet face was scrunched with rage. “I do not want to be his heir,” she snapped. “What of Eleanor? She is Arthur’s older sister. Give her the throne; I do not want it.”
“What you want is of no matter,” de Lohr replied evenly. “Eleanor of Brittany is, even now, a captive at Corfe Castle. If we do not remove you to safety, you too shall be either murdered or captured.”
There was more fear in her features than true anger. “But Eleanor is the true heiress.”
De Lohr sighed patiently. “But you are free. Eleanor cannot be Richard’s successor while she is bottled up in Corfe’s dungeons.” He took another step in her direction, an enormous man with an intimidating manner. “By virtue of the fact that you are not captive or prisoner and by virtue of the fact that you are Geoffrey’s sole remaining living child, you have been named successor. You must accept this and I promise that we shall all get along much better.”
She wasn’t happy in the least; her expression said so. “I would know who made this decision that I should take Arthur’s place and not Eleanor. Who on earth has the power to make this so?”
De Burgh interjected. “I did, my lady,” he said softly. “While John lives, only madness shall rule in England. The country will not survive. We need a true and noble ruler, my lady. We need you.”
The anger faded from her features, replaced by some trepidation. “But I am not a true royal,” she insisted, more softly this time. “I have not been groomed for this duty.”
“You will be.”
The way de Burgh said it made the statement sound as if there was no argument. Even de Lohr looked at him as he spoke the words; there was power and decision in them. They all knew the stakes. They were the opposition to the crown; this was treason of the highest order.
Elizabeau knew it too and the more she thought on it, the more frightened she became. But she refused to let them see her fear. “If that is so, then why are you sending me out into the dead of night with only one man for protection?” she asked. “Every man under John’s belt is out to carve a piece of me.”
De Lohr cocked a blond eyebrow. “You have been pledged to a nephew of Emperor Otto the Fourth, a marriage which will solidify the unity between The Holy Roman Empire and England. France will be boxed in from both sides with The Holy Roman Empire to the east and England to the West. The emperor’s troops will help us secure your throne once the marriage has taken place. Phillip’s power will be seriously limited and your Uncle John will be neutralized.”
Elizabeau gritted her teeth impatiently. “I know all of that. But you still have not answered my question.”
“And what is that, my lady?”
“Why are you sending me into the dark with a lone knight for protection?”
De Lohr, who had once been the right hand of Richard the Lion Heart and the man known throughout the realm as the King’s Champion, cast a long glance at Rhys. The man is in for one hell of an experience with this one, he thought dryly.
“This isn’t simply a lone knight, my lady,” he said after a moment. “The man holding you within his grasp is one of my very best. Make no mistake; he is a man of great experience and strength.”
“He is a mere knight. How dare you trust my life to someone so… so simple.”
De Lohr held up a finger. “Ah, that is where you are grossly mistaken, my lady,” his reply had an edge of sharpness. “The knight you have just insulted is the fourth son of the Duke of Navarre. He has lineage and nobility to match your own. If I were you, I would have a little more respect.”
Elizabeau inevitably looked up at the man holding her arm; he was in full armor, a broad bear of a man made more enormous by the protection he wore. All she could see, and all she had ever seen of him since they had been introduced a scarce half-hour earlier, were his eyes, nose and part of a mouth beneath the mail and three-point helm. Everything else was covered with well-used armor or buried under layers of dirks and weaponry.
She locked gazes with him, eyes of the most brilliant blue she had ever seen. They were so bright that they glowed. There was a strange jolt to the moment, as if something was buzzing inside her head, and she quickly tore her gaze away. The brilliant blue eyes of the knight were unnerving. In fact, the entire evening had been unnerving and she was struggling with her equilibrium.