Medieval Master Swordsmen(58)

Conrad nodded. “We made sure of it. The king has tried to kill me, too.”

Rhett nodded in complete understanding, glancing to Rod and Renard to let them know that everything was all right. He suddenly felt just the slightest bit of sadness as the weight of the situation began to settle.

“We must shelter and feed the prince and his men,” he said to Rod, who immediately turned for the manse. Rhett looked to the prince and his escort. “If you will stable your horses, we will prepare food for you.”

Conrad nodded, motioning to his men and saying something to them in their language that had them dismounting their horses. There was something of a strange, melancholy mood to their air and the young prince was not sure why. But he could see that the grizzled old cripple was morose although his words were welcoming.

“Is the princess here?” Conrad asked the old man.

Rhett shook his head, thinking of Rhys and Elizabeau and knowing their time together was even shorter than they had imagined by this latest event. He was very sad for them.

“She is not,” he replied. “But I know where she is. We will send for her.”

Conrad seemed satisfied, following Rhett and Renard into the manse. It was a slow walk, like a funeral procession, and the young prince began to feel the depression like a weight. It was an odd sensation that he attributed to the danger of the situation. He could account for nothing else.

The first face that greeted him was of a young woman with bright red hair and pretty dark eyes. Carys smiled at Conrad before she dipped into a respectful curtsy. The prince’s gaze lingered on the tall young girl, impressed by the color of her hair. He had no idea that the English were so colorful. But, then again, he was in Wales. Perhaps it was the Welsh that were colorful. His gaze lingered on Carys even as Rhett introduced the de Titouan family.

When the introduction came to Carys, Conrad smiled back.



***



Elizabeau wasn’t sure how long they had been riding. She had kept her eyes tightly closed as she clutched Rhys, the sounds and feel of thundering hooves vibrating through her body. She could feel the trees passing overhead by the swooshing sounds of their branches and she knew when they were racing through a clearing by the open, vacant sounds around her. It seemed to go on for hours.

She was frightened, but her panic faded the more Rhys put distance between them and Whitebrook. She had no idea where they were going but put her trust in Rhys that he would find them a safe haven. As the day progressed and they crossed the Wye River heading east, she finally opened her eyes and began to watch their surroundings.

Rhys took them through a series of woods and fields. To the south, she could see farms and a small town and, at times, people in the distance. But Rhys was focused on where he was going and spared no attention to the town to the south. It was therefore a surprise to Elizabeau when a castle, dark-stoned and ominous, suddenly appeared before them.

It came out of the trees, looming in the fading daylight like a dark sentinel. It wasn’t particularly large, but it had two large gatehouse towers and a portcullis between them. Rhys charged right up to the portcullis and demanded entry.

He dismounted, waiting impatiently for the portcullis to lift. Several moments passed before a small old man with wild white hair poked his head out from the porter’s lodge, a room built into the gatehouse walls for the sentries. Taking one look at Rhys, he began muttering to himself and disappeared back inside. They could hear bickering going on inside the gatehouse before the iron-fanged grate slowly began to lift.

Elizabeau sat atop the charger, watching the portcullis slowly grind upwards. She looked at Rhys, who appeared strained and distracted. His jaw was ticking faintly, unusual for the usually emotionless and professional man. She continued to watch him, knowing he had a good deal on his mind.

“Rhys,” she said softly. “Where are we?”

He glanced at her, the brilliant blue eyes intense. “St. Briavels. I need to collect some things before we continue.”

So they were at the mysterious castle that belonged to Rhys through a disillusioned marriage. Elizabeau took a second look at the bastion, her gaze skimming the battlements above, noting how close the trees came to it. In fact, the castle was almost completely surrounded by the forest that came up to the edge of its narrow moat. It was well concealed in the dim light of the forest.

When the portcullis was raised enough to allow them to pass under it, Rhys led the charger into the passage and they passed beneath two more lifted portcullises before emerging into the small, odd-shaped bailey. Elizabeau looked around, noting there was not much else to the castle other than the enormous gatehouse and a massive hall built into the east wall. There was a stairway leading up to the second floor entry of the gatehouse.