He gazed back at her, his expression unnaturally soft. “I understand well how you feel. Which is why I will not be taking you to Ogmore.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“My brother Rod is being recalled from Bronllys. ‘Tis he who will escort you.”
He knew that she would not react well to the news. But he had no idea just how badly she would respond. She took a step back from him, her eyes widening to the point that he thought they might burst from her skull.
“No!” she shouted, veering away from him when he attempted to reach out and grasp her. “No, I will not hear of it! I will not allow this!”
Rhys found himself dodging pedestrians as he tried to get a hold of her. She was bolting across the avenue, shrieking. When he finally managed to get hold of her, she slugged his arm in an attempt to dislodge his hand. But his grip was like iron and he cornered her against the wall of a merchant stall, his enormous arms creating a vise from which she could never escape. His embrace consumed her.
His lips were on her temple as he spoke. “Calm down, angel. Just calm yourself. ‘Tis for the best; you must trust me.”
She was trying to fight him for all she was worth but he was simply too big and too powerful. She finally gave up and collapsed against him. The tears returned.
“Please do not send me with another,” she begged. “If I must go, then it must be with you or I cannot go through with this. Please, Rhys. Do not abandon me.”
He rocked her gently. He was about to reply when something caught his attention. A familiar face was on the approach and Rhys’ first instinct was to release the lady. But it would do no good; he had already been spotted.
Christopher de Lohr was watching him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He could hear her yelling, screeching something to de Lohr that he couldn’t quite make out. As Rhys stood with David and Lawrence in the great hall of Whitebrook, he could hear Elizabeau laying into de Lohr quite strongly. He could only imagine what she was screaming about.
He stood near the hearth, his massive arms folded across his chest and head lowered as he listened to the distant yelling. David sat at the table close to him while Lawrence simply paced around, trying to make some sense out of the screaming for himself. Rhys’ family was nowhere to be found; when he had returned from Llandogo with de Lohr in tow, Rhett had made some excuse to the family and they had all fled. Rhys was glad; he didn’t want them to be privy to the chaos unfolding. He commended his decision to tell his uncle everything.
“She is a beautiful woman,” David’s quiet voice interrupted his tumultuous thoughts. “’Tis not as if we blame you. But on a mission of this importance….”
Rhys put up a quelling hand. “I am well aware of the mission,” he said. “I am also well aware of what is at stake, of who she is, of who I am, and everything else that pertains to this task. I’m not an idiot, David.”
“Nay, you are not,” Lawrence said from across the room. “But you have crossed the line.”
Rhys’ head snapped up, the brilliant blue eyes blazing. “And how would you know that?” he snapped in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “How would you know anything of what has transpired over the past several days?”
Lawrence put up his hands to cool the big man. “I did not mean it as it sounded. I simply meant that you crossed the line by feeling something for your ward. You are a man, Rhys; ‘tis natural to feel something for a beautiful woman. But you knew better in this case. You knew she was out of your reach.”
Rhys jaw was ticking and he turned back to the hearth; he knew that Lawrence and David were not judging him. He had known them both a long time and they knew his character. But he felt as if he had failed somehow.
“I know she is,” he reached out, slapping a hand against the mantle as he gazed into the fire. There was lethargy and anguish to his movements. “If anyone knows it, I certainly do.”
“Then what in the hell happened?” Lawrence asked, almost beseechingly.
Rhys could only shake his head, like a man who was losing his mind. “Nothing has happened. Nothing at all.”
They were so focused on Rhys that they hadn’t realized the screaming upstairs had stopped. Lawrence opened his mouth to reply but Christopher suddenly entered the hall, his sky-blue eyes riveted to Rhys. He walked right up to the man and planted himself next to him.
“Now I will hear your side of this,” he said as calmly as he could. “The lady has told me her version. What have you to say about what I saw out there on the avenue?”
Rhys faced de Lohr; he wasn’t as tall as his liege, but he was wider. He did not fear the man nor did he back down. He reverted to the non-emotional, professional persona that they had all come to associate with Rhys du Bois. This was the perfect killing machine, the man who was swayed by nothing and feared nothing. It was still difficult for any of them to believe what they had seen in Llandogo.