She sat up, looking at him with her red-rimmed eyes and red-tipped nose. “What a remarkable story,” she said softly. “It would take a very strong man to overlook the indiscretions of a woman carrying another man’s child. Did he raise you as his own, then?”
Rhys nodded. “He’s never treated me any differently than my brothers.”
“Did you always know he was not your father?”
“Ever since I was old enough to understand.”
“What do you call him, then?”
“By his name; Renard.”
“And your mother’s name?”
“Orlaith.” He paused a moment. “And it was not her indiscretions that Renard overlooked. The Duke forced himself upon her and she had no choice.”
It was a slight rebuke but she was not offended; he was simply clearing the situation so she would not look upon his mother as a used mistress, or worse. Elizabeau sniffled again into her kerchief, slouching back against him once more as her attention focused on the approaching gray-stoned structure. She felt his arm tighten around her and she struggled to ignore the warm feeling it provoked, warm feelings she had been fighting against for the past several days. They were inappropriate and unreasonable as she reminded herself, but as she became angry and miserable the more, and stronger, they persisted.
“You have much more of a family than I have,” she said quietly, distracting herself. “At least you have brothers and sisters and uncles to depend on. I only have my mother. We are the last of a dying house, my mother and I.”
Rhys glanced down at the top of her golden-red head. “A noble house, however. The House of Treveighan is one of the oldest in Cornwall. Your lineage goes back to the days of Arthur, so I’m told.”
She sat up, grinning at him. “How would you know that?”
He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching. “De Lohr told me.”
“And how would he know?”
“He knows everything.”
She smirked at him, suddenly sneezing into her hand but losing none of her mirth. “My mother’s husband died before I was born, you know. She was considered a very wealthy and prestigious widow until Geoffrey of Brittany saw her in London and had his way with her. Then she became pregnant with me and all of her decent marriage prospects fled. Who would want to marry a woman who carries a royal bastard?” She eyed him. “Unless your name is Renard, of course.”
He laughed softly, displaying his big white teeth. His smile was so bright that Elizabeau swore it glowed. She had only come to see his full-on smile a day ago, when she had commented on something he found humorous. She had been entranced by the deep chuckle and straight teeth; his face changed radically when he smiled. Now she seemed to have made it her subconscious mission to make him show his teeth often. She liked the feel of her quivering heart when he did so.
“Renard is a unique man,” he agreed. “He is quiet, not particularly bright, but a good man nonetheless. And he loves my mother, a rare thing in this day.”
Her gaze lingered on him a moment before refocusing her attention on the looming manor house. It was big, shaped like a “U”, with a protected courtyard. But as they came upon it, Elizabeau noticed that there was much more to it than that; she could see stone walls covered with moss that penned chickens, horses, a few cows, goats, geese and various other animals. On the opposite side of the dirt road were what seemed like miles of gardens with all manner of vines, vegetables and other growing plants with carefully planted rows upon rows of growth and as they drew near to the manor, dogs rushed out and started barking. The charger snapped its jaws but the dogs were unafraid. Rhys whistled at them between his teeth and they seemed to run off towards the manor again, barking as dogs do.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the manor creaked open and a tall, pale girl with bright red hair stood in the doorway. She took a few steps, shielding her eyes from the sun, as Rhys and Elizabeau drew closer. Then, recognition dawned; the girl dropped her hand from her eyes and shrieked so loud that the destrier started.
“Rhys!” she squealed. “You’re home, you’re home!”
Elizabeau couldn’t help but smile at the young girl as she rushed the horse, jumping up and down. Rhys reined the charger to a halt and gently lowered Elizabeau to the ground before dismounting himself. The flame-haired girl threw herself into his massive arms.
“It’s been so long!” the girl gushed, pushing herself out of his enormous embrace. “Let me look at you; you’re as big as an ox! Did you bring me any presents?”
Rhys lifted an eyebrow at her. “The first words out of your mouth are of greed and selfishness.” He kissed her on her pale cheek. “You grow lovelier by the day, Carys. So how many suitors have you had since I’ve been away, eh? How many young men will I have to chase off?”