“My God, she’s beautiful, Rhys,” he said with approval. “How did you come by such good fortune?”
Rhys cast Elizabeau a long glance, wriggling his eyebrows as he did. “I do not know,” he said quietly. “I must have done something particularly good in my life to warrant such a reward.”
Renard’s smile faded. “Nay, lad,” he stopped wiping his hands and looked at the man he had raised as his own son. “God is rewarding you for putting up with the first bitch you married. He has a good deal to make up to you.”
Rhys’ expression morphed to stone as Renard headed in the direction of the barn, oblivious to the fact that he had upset Rhys with his careless words. Renard had never been one for much tact.
“Your mother had me running all over the Wye Valley looking for the best price for our autumn harvest of vegetables,” Renard said as he walked, assuming Rhys and Elizabeau were following. “That is why I was not here to greet you yesterday. And you’ll be surprised to know that Rhett went with me. I was actually able to convince the man to leave the house.”
Rhys and Elizabeau were still standing by the open manse door. Elizabeau leaned into Rhys.
“Who is Rhett?” she whispered.
“My crippled uncle,” he responded softly, then raised his voice to his mother’s husband, who was several feet away by now. “Where is Uncle Rhett?”
“Inside, slapping his cane at Dylan.”
Rhys lifted an eyebrow, taking Elizabeau by the elbow once again. “Then I had better go and save him,” he muttered.
The manse was dim, smelling of fresh bread and rushes. It wasn’t particularly a luxurious home, but it was well appointed and comfortable. Elizabeau hadn’t seen too much of it when she had arrived yesterday and took the time to study her surroundings. The floors were stone on the first floor with heavy, uneven planking on the second floor and ceiling. A few servants milled about and the place was remarkably well-lit with large lancet windows that, in some cases, went floor to ceiling. The main hall had a few benches, two enormous chairs, and a massive table that was situation before the hearth. Dogs slept under the table and around it.
Carys and Dylan were seated at the table along with an old man that Elizabeau had never seen before. Over near the hearth, Orlaith was attempting to keep Maddoc from falling into the fire as the lad begged for a piece of freshly baked bread. As Rhys and Elizabeau approached the table, the family turned towards them. The old man was the first one to speak.
“Rhys!” he boomed. “Great Gods, where have you been keeping yourself? Dylan told me that you had returned but I accused him of lying.”
Rhys was grinning as he walked up to the man, putting his massive hands on the old man’s shoulders and giving him a good squeeze. “He was not lying,” Rhys winked at Dylan across the table. “Do not always assume that Dylan is lying. He is a thief and a scoundrel, but he is not a liar.”
Rhett de Llion snorted happily as his eldest nephew sat on the bench next to him. He looked at the man a moment, studying the strong features. “It’s been a long time, lad,” he finally said. “You look healthy enough. I worry about you, you know. You’re too involved in the king’s politics. You surround yourself with cutthroats and men of dubious character.”
Rhys laughed softly. “Christopher de Lohr is not a man of dubious character.”
Rhett waved him off. “I did not mean de Lohr. He’s as upstanding as any man. I’m talking about the king’s men. They’ll slit your throat as easily as talking to you. ‘Tis all the same to them.”
Rhys’ smile faded; he didn’t dare look at Elizabeau, still standing by the end of the table. He finally patted the old man on his arm and gestured in Elizabeau’s direction.
“Uncle, you’re going to scare my wife,” he said. “Meet the Lady Julianna.”
Rhett turned his big bulk in Elizabeau’s direction and she could immediately see the family resemblance between Rhys and his mother and his uncle; Rhett had dark hair and brilliant blue eyes that were as sharp as the hot summer sky. In his youth, Rhett de Llion had been a very handsome man. Now he just looked old and heavy. But his eyes had lost none of their sharpness.
“My lady,” he reached out and took her hand after a moment. “My nephew is indeed a very lucky man.”
Elizabeau smiled, her eyes finding Rhys. “’Tis I who am the fortunate one, my lord.”
Rhett grunted his approval. “I like a woman who knows her place,” he looked back at his nephew. “She’ll make a fine wife, Rhys. Not like that other one.”