When he took the cloak that he had lain on the bed and swung it around her shoulders, she simply stood there and let him fasten it. He fussed with it like a father, making sure she was properly covered, before taking her hand and leading her from the room. Elizabeau followed dumbly, her cold hand in his warm one, as he took her down the spiral stairs to the second floor and finally out into the bailey. The entire time, she never said a word and neither did Rhys. They both knew the time was drawing near and they both knew what they must do.
There was nothing more to say.
CHAPTER TEN
They stopped in the town near Caldicot Castle that night. It was a place called Highmoor Hills, sounding far more romantic than it looked. The truth was it was a dirty little town with an abundance of transient clientele thanks to the port on its shores that served both the sea and the mouth of the Severn River.
It was very late when Rhys finally stopped at a small, inconspicuous tavern in the midst of the drunken little town. It did not even have a name. It was surprisingly lively for the time of night but stank to high heavens. Holding Elizabeau’s arm gently, Rhys took her inside, making way through the crowd of rough and edgy patrons to the barkeep on the opposite side of the room. Elizabeau was exhausted and said nothing as Rhys negotiated with the man for a room. When they finally settled on a price that was a sight high, a very dirty serving wench took them up the stairs and to the end of the hall where a small, crooked door was shoved open.
It could hardly be called a room but it would have to suffice. There was a small bed, a table, a hearth and little else. It was tiny. The serving wench lit the kindling and was able to spark a small fire as Rhys set down the satchel and directed Elizabeau to sit on the bed. She did so, wearily, pulling off the hood of the cloak as Rhys instructed the woman to bring them a meal. The wench meandered out with a glance to Elizabeau and a lingering glance to Rhys. When the door was shut and bolted, Rhys fussed with the fire until it was satisfactorily blazing before finally turning to Elizabeau.
They had not said a word to each other since leaving St. Briavels. He did not like the silence; it had his stomach in knots. Slowly, he removed his gloves, pretending to busy himself with the pieces of old armor that covered his arms. He unfastened the straps, setting them aside a piece at a time, feeling Elizabeau’s presence behind him like a heady weight. He was in the process of removing his hauberk when her soft voice floated up behind him.
“So we find ourselves in an inn once again,” she murmured. “The last time we found ourselves in this situation it was a bit of an adventure. I wonder if tonight will see such excitement.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I hope not,” he said quietly. “I, for one, could use some sleep. I’ve no desire to sit up all night in order to protect you from stupid peasants who tunnel through walls.”
She looked at him; his brilliant blue eyes were twinkling. It made her grin. “If one were to think on it, that was rather clever of him.”
Rhys’ smile broke through as he finished pulling his hauberk off and tossed it aside. “I will congratulate him on his ingenuity, but it is foolish. If that woman’s father catches him, he’ll be lucky to survive.”
Elizabeau laughed softly, feeling her mood lighten. She could not stand the silence between them, either. “Surely the man will have some pity. They are in love, after all.”
Rhys shook his head as he shirked his mail coat. “It does not matter. Any father would protect his daughter to the death.”
“Would you protect your daughter to the death?”
His grin broadened. “Woe to the man who would as much as glance at my daughter.”
Elizabeau watched him as he neatly stacked up the armor he had removed, studying the width of his enormous shoulders, feeling her heart grow warm and soft. She lay back on the bed, propping her head upon her hand on bended elbow.
“For argument’s sake, suppose you and I were to have a daughter,” she watched him as he turned to look at her. “Suppose she was a beautiful girl with your brilliant eyes and my red hair. Suppose she was the most beautiful girl in all the land and she fell madly in love with a worthy and true lad. Would you chase him away and ruin her chances of happiness?”
He pursed his lips. “You are too vague with your argument,” he said as he stood up and moved to the bed where she sat. “You do not state this lad’s standing. Is he a noble? A pauper?”
She shrugged. “He is a knight.”
Rhys put his hands on his hips and shook his head firmly. “’Twill never do. Our daughter would be of royal blood. She would have to marry much higher.”