Medieval Master Swordsmen(48)
Silently, he rose from the chair and moved it back where he had found it. He didn’t even bother looking back at her as he moved to the door, terrified that if he did so he would break and fall to his knees, begging her forgiveness. His big hand fell on the latch.
“I will tell de Lohr that you are ready to move on to Ogmore,” he wasn’t able to keep the dullness from his tone. “My brother should be here in a couple of days. I will inform de Lohr that Rod will take you on to Ogmore when he arrives.”
He waited a moment for her to reply but she did not. He could feel her anguish radiating out to him and it nearly destroyed him. Clenching his teeth, his hands, he quit the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He couldn’t stand what he had just done. But it had been necessary, he kept telling himself. It had to be.
Halfway down the stairwell, he put his fist through the wall.
***
Elizabeau had been at Whitebrook for five days; five of the longest, most miserable days of her life. Even now, as she sat in the kitchen yard under a big poplar tree and watched the goats in the distance, her senses were dull and her heart was in pieces. She simply didn’t care about anything any longer, her mission or her life included. Everything about her was dead.
Rhys had been around as a constant reminder to her pain, hovering nearby wherever she was simply because he was assigned to protect her. He would only speak to her when absolutely necessary. When she slept, she slept alone although he would come into the room late at night, sleep in a chair, and then leave before she rose. As far as his family knew, they were still married. Nothing had changed on that front. But it was apparent to all that something had changed since de Lohr’s visit. The light had gone out of both Elizabeau and Rhys.
Christopher and his knights had left almost as soon as they had arrived, continuing on their journey to Ogmore Castle. Staying at Whitebrook would have attracted too much attention and it was best that they move on to the enormous concentric fortress that was a two day ride from Whitebrook. Any of John’s assassins that had managed to trail them would focus on de Lohr and hopefully draw any attention away from Rhys and Whitebrook. Rhys had assured de Lohr that the lady would make her rendezvous with her prince, so there was nothing left to do but to go to Ogmore and wait for her to arrive.
It was a lovely November day, if not a bit cool. Elizabeau sat in the shade of the tree, trembling with chill but not noticing. She was focused on what was to become of her, marrying a man she did not know and commanding an army on two continents that would put her upon the throne of England. It all seemed like a dream, so far away and awful. She wasn’t even sure any of this was real any longer. All she knew was that her life was in ruins, more than she could have ever dreamed.
Lost in thought, she was startled when someone put a cloak around her shoulders. She looked up to see Rhett standing next to her, leaning heavily on his cane as he tried to adjust the cloak. When he saw that her attention was on him, he smiled weakly.
“’Tis cold here in the shade,” he said. “I would not want to see you catch a chill.”
She didn’t know what to say to the old man. She couldn’t even muster the strength to thank him. Pulling the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, her attention returned to the farm animals several yards away.
Rhett didn’t leave. He continued to stand next to her, his gaze moving between her pale face and the objects of her attention. He leaned heavily on his cane, trying to think of something to say that would not be too trite or too heady. He knew what was going on; Rhys had confided in him the previous night after too much drink. They both agreed it had been the best course of action for him to take at the time. But for as miserable as the lady was, Rhys was far worse. His façade was as emotionless as always, but inside, he was crushed.
Even now, Rhys sat several yards away just within the line of sight of the rear yard where the lady was, pretending to work on a piece of armor by fooling with the straps. It was a greave, the heavy armor that went against his lower legs. Rhett knew that there was nothing wrong with it; Rhys just didn’t want to sit idle. He was more than likely afraid that if his hand or mind was not occupied, he would inevitably gravitate towards the lady and to do so would be very bad for the both of them. So he fiddled with the leather and tried not to brood.
“Rhys tells me that you have lived in London for the past several years,” Rhett began the conversation safely enough. “I’ve not been to London in quite some time. I would imagine it has changed some since the days of the king’s father.”
Elizabeau sat there a moment, wrapped in the strange cloak, watching the goats eat pieces of the wooden chicken coop. “I would not know, my lord. I can only tell you that it has not changed overly in the past fifteen years.”