Medieval Master Swordsmen(24)
Rhys was concerned and although he knew they should remain where they were so she could recover somewhat, his instincts and his orders told him to keep going. He had to get the lady to safety and any manner of delay, no matter what the reason, could mean trouble. So he had bundled the lady up in her bleached woolen cloak with the rabbit lining, stolen a heavy horse blanket and wrapped her up tightly in it, and continued with their journey. He had to make it to his mother’s manor as soon as possible; the lady’s illness simply added another element of urgency.
As the lush valley of the Wye River came into view and his mother’s stone manor of Whitebrook in the distance, Rhys felt a distinct sense of relief. He knew his mother would take very good care of the lady and he was eager to get her into a decent bed and warm shelter. In spite of her illness, she had never mentioned a word of complaint and that both impressed him and caused him extreme guilt. He almost would have felt better had she complained the entire way; it would have caused him aggravation that he could have rationalized. But a silent, enduring ward caused him waves of remorse because he knew she was enduring far more than she should have. Elizabeau was, if nothing else, proving herself to be a strong woman.
The road upon which they had been riding descended into a valley that had seen a good deal of rain the past few months. But today was relatively sunny and the vibrant green was all around them. It was mid-morning and the birds were out in force, flying overhead and chattering loudly. A family of rabbits scurried across the road, causing his exhausted charger to start. Rhys clucked to the horse, soothing him as they continued along their way, as Elizabeau suddenly awoke in his arms.
His first indication that she was lucid was when she groaned slightly. The second was when she sat bolt upright and smacked him in the chin. He grunted as she gasped.
“God’s Bones,” she said hoarsely, peering at his chin where she hit it. “Are you all right? I did not mean to strike you.”
He rubbed his chin and flexed his jaw. “No harm done,” he said, then pointed in front of them. “Look; we have finally arrived. Welcome to Whitebrook, my lady.”
Elizabeau turned around, her gaze searching out the green valley before her. But then a sneeze overtook her and she covered her nose with the kerchief that had been her closest companion for days. She had sneezed and coughed innumerable times into the soft linen fabric. Her nose was red because of it.
“’Tis lovely,” she sniffled, feeling weak and achy and collapsing back against him. “And thank God for it.”
He smiled faintly, listening to her cough and sniffle. “No worries, my lady. My mother will have you well again in no time.”
She had learned over the course of the past eight days which was the most comfortable position against Rhys and his armor. She shifted slightly so she was wedged against his torso almost into his right armpit. He let her get settled before pulling the rough horse blanket about her and gathering her close with his right arm.
“My mother likes to make a fuss, so be warned,” he said, attempting to distract her from her misery. “The woman had three boys and a daughter, and somehow my sister always seemed to be her favorite. She coddles her as if no other girl in the world exists.”
Elizabeau sneezed into her hand, feeling miserable and stuffy. Though she was glad to finally have reached their destination, she realized she was sorry that it meant she and Rhys would no longer have time like this together. In spite of her illness, she had enjoyed the past several days. Rhys had been quiet, respectful, and humorous at times and she had come to like and respect him a great deal.
“Tell me about your family,” she asked, her words muffled by her kerchief.
Rhys held the charger tight as a dove suddenly shot into the sky a few feet in front of the beast. “Not much to tell, really,” he said. “My mother married her husband shortly before I was born and my brother Rod was born two years later. My sister Carys followed twelve years later, followed two years later by my brother, Dylan. He is the youngest. Oh, and my uncle lives at Whitebrook also, brother to the Steward of Bronllys. He was a great knight back in his day, but age and disease have rendered him almost invalid.”
“Do you get on with your mother’s husband?”
His brilliant blue gaze trailed over the vibrant green landscape. “Aye,” he replied. “He was a knight who had served my father. When my mother became pregnant, the duchess threatened to kill her and my father ordered his knight to return her to Wales. During the journey, they fell in love and were married. When they reached Wales, the knight never returned to France. He’s stayed here, with my mother, and they have had a good life together.”