“Your wife’s name is Dustin?”
“It is.”
“Do you have any children, my lord?”
“Two daughters. And my wife is expecting again.”
Elizabeau turned to David, waiting impatiently for his food. “And you, my lord? Are you married with children, also?” she asked.
David had slightly less tolerance for conversation than his older brother. He rubbed his eyes wearily. “My wife is Emilie and I have a daughter also.”
Elizabeau’s gaze moved between the two men, her deep green eyes calculating. “Then tell me this, my lords; if I was your wife, or one of your daughters, would you so easily send me to a farm with no walls or an army for protection while trying to shield me from a king who employs legions of assassins? Is that a truly wise move?”
The de Lohr brothers stared at her for a moment before Christopher finally answered. “I would trust the life of my wife and daughters to Rhys without hesitation,” he replied steadily. “And yes, I do believe sending you to a farm, where your uncle will never think to look, is a wise decision. I am not in the habit of making foolish ones.”
Elizabeau’s resolve to behave was quickly fading. She sighed sharply, making her disagreement obvious, before returning her attention to the fire. She wasn’t sure what more she could say that wouldn’t turn into a fight. What concerned her most was that Rhys apparently agreed with her; no walls, no protection, only a fortified manor. John’s men could get to her if she was discovered.
David’s meal came and he plowed into it, aided by his brother. While the earl and Rhys kept a quiet conversation, Elizabeau stared into the hypnotic fire and pondered her dark thoughts. Conrad is his name, she thought. The name of the man she would spend the rest of her life with. She wondered what sort of man he was; most princes she had heard of, or kings for that matter, had some manner of perversity or dishonor associated with them. It made her stomach twist with apprehension, and that apprehension was her last coherent thought before the world around her exploded.
She heard a strange noise off to her left followed by an even stranger wailing sound. Suddenly, Rhys was throwing himself on top of her and she was in a heap beneath his massive body. She could hear Christopher snapping orders and saying something to the effect that David had been hit by an arrow. But she couldn’t see anything. Terror welled in her chest as Rhys abruptly pushed himself off of her, put both armored arms around her in a bear hug, and pulled her with him behind an upended table.
More arrows were flying over her head, crashing into the wall above the hearth. Instinctively, she yelped and covered her head, listening to the terrifying sounds of death that were aimed at her. Off to her left, she could see David sitting up against another upended table with an arrow jutting from his shoulder. But he was lucid, and angry, and his sword was in his left hand preparing for the battle to come.
More arrows flew overhead, clattering to the floor when they met with the stone wall. Elizabeau kept herself in a huddle, arms over her head, while Rhys kept his big arms around her. He couldn’t do much more than protect her from the projectiles, watch David and take his orders from the man. He couldn’t see the earl at all.
The arrows stopped flying and there were sounds of a sword fight. David leapt up, as did Rhys, peering over the top of the overturned tables to see Christopher and two of his knights engaged against several men. Rhys’ warrior instinct kicked in; he vaulted over the top of the table, speaking to David as he flew.
“Protect the lady,” his tone was quiet, with force. “I will aid the earl.”
David wouldn’t have been much help to his brother with an arrow sticking out of him and he knew it. Rhys was an enormous man with enormous fighting ability, so David went over to the lady as du Bois jumped into the mêlée. By this time, Elizabeau dared to peer above the edge of the table to watch the fighting. As David crouched next to her, one hand holding his sword and the other stabilizing the spine of the arrow as it jutted from his flesh, they watched the battle unfold.
Rhys didn’t wait to be invited into the skirmish. He went straight for the man battling the earl and in two clean strokes, gutted the man. It was a brutal move designed to kill, and Elizabeau’s eyes opened wide at the sight. With one man down, Rhys turned for the other five that were engaging the earl’s men and plowed into them with unearthly ferocity. It wasn’t that he was a better fighter than the earl and his men; it was simply that he was fearless and strong as an ox. While the enemy was distracted with the earl and his knights, Rhys moved through them like God smiting sinners. They barely saw him coming before their lives were at an end. It was an amazing sight to behold.