Medieval Master Swordsmen(55)

Elizabeau’s smile was fading as she looked at Rhys, wishing at that moment that this ruse was the truth. She wished it with all her heart.

“Nay,” she said softly, her eyes on Rhys. “There never was.”

Rhys caught the tone, the look, and his joviality faded. All he could see was how much she meant what she said. It thrilled him and broke his heart at the same time. Not wanting a recurrence of the earlier tears, he went to take her by the elbow and changed the subject.

“We need to find Uncle Rhett,” he said, leading Elizabeau and his brother towards the house. “He is the one who sent for you.”

Rod brushed the dust off his mail, watching it billow up in clouds. “So he did. Do you know why? All he said was that it was of great importance.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Rhys said casually. Then he changed the subject. “How is grandfather, by the way?”

“As cantankerous as ever.”

Rhys didn’t reply; they were at the door and he opened it for Elizabeau, shoving Rod out of the way when his brother tried to enter after her. Rod just grinned and followed his brother’s enormous form into the warm, dark hall.

Rhett was sitting in his familiar spot at the table near the hearth. He always sat there to warm his old bones. After Rod was hugged by his mother, his sister and younger brother, he moved to his uncle and received a strong handshake and a clap on the back. Elizabeau stood next to Rhys, watching Rod work the room; he was very congenial, his smile very easy and his laugh quick. He had an outgoing personality and a very charming way about him. Elizabeau could see that the man probably had more than his share of admirers, for he was quite charismatic to accompany his stunning good looks.

As Rod conversed with Rhett, Elizabeau’s gaze moved up to Rhys. He was listening to the conversation between his brother and his uncle, absorbing every word that was said. Elizabeau studied his strong profile; whereas Rod was a strikingly handsome man, Rhys had that and more. The added element with Rhys was a smoldering sensuality just below the surface that lingered in those brilliant blue eyes. He could turn knees to mush with just a glance or set hearts to fluttering with a look. It occurred to Elizabeau that she probably wasn’t the only lady who had succumbed to Rhys’ charms; she could, in fact, hardly blame them. But she had been the lucky one. He returned the favor.

Over at the table, Rhett was demanding that his nephew help him to stand. Elizabeau and Rhys followed as Rhett took Rod’s arm and walked the man back out into the courtyard. He kept up a running conversation, chatting about the weather, some mischief he and his brother, Berwyn, got into when they were young, and anything else that came to mind. Only when the door to the manse closed and they were well out into the courtyard did he stop chattering. Now they could speak in private.

He faced his younger nephew. “Now,” he said, his voice low. “You are surely wondering why I sent for you. Let me assure you that this is nothing to be trifled with. It is a matter of the greatest importance.”

Rhys knew what his uncle was going to say and, until a few minutes ago, had been in full agreement. Now he was not.

“Rod,” he went to stand next to Rhett, fixing his brother in the eye. “Lady Julianna is not my wife. And her name is not Julianna.”

Rod’s dark eyebrows lifted; he folded his arms over his chest, an interested and bemused look on his face. “Is that so?” he looked at Elizabeau and winked. “So there is hope for me after all.”

Rhett rolled his eyes and growled but Rhys did not react. He continued. “This is the Lady Elizabeau Treveighan. Her father is Geoffrey of Brittany. Her half-brother is Arthur of Brittany. Arthur was murdered in Paris two weeks ago. The Lady Elizabeau is his successor. We must keep her alive until she can marry a Teutonic prince for the purpose of wresting the throne away from John.”

Rod just looked at him. Then he burst out laughing. “A good story, brother. You almost had me believing it.”

Rhett shook his head before Rhys could reply. “Idiot,” the old man snapped softly. “He is telling the truth. This woman is the next queen of England.”

Rod snorted a moment or two longer, but the expression on both Rhys’ and Rhett’s face slowed his humor. Then he looked at Elizabeau, who gazed back at him quite seriously. It began to occur to him that they were not fooling him. Astonishment overtook his manner.

“Are you serious?” he hissed, uncrossing his arms. “If that is true, then what in the world is she doing here?”

“I am her escort,” Rhys said quietly. “We’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks dodging assassins. De Lohr ordered me to take her to Whitebrook, the least obvious place any of the king’s murderers would look. I am to escort her to Ogmore Castle by the end of the week so that she may rendezvous with her prince.”