Medieval Master Swordsmen(71)

Rod made a face at him. “’Tis good to see you, too.”

Rhys let out a frustrated hiss and rolled his eyes at his younger brother. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

“I came to find you and the lady,” Rod didn’t want to be too obvious about looking to the apparently-naked woman in the bed. “That group of men you fled from at Whitebrook were not assassins. They are the lady’s betrothed and his escort. I’ve been sent to bring you back.”

Rhys’ expression didn’t change, but inside, he felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. “What?” was the only thing he could think to say.

Rod looked at his brother as if speaking to a simpleton. “Those men you fled from yesterday,” he repeated patiently. “It is the prince betrothed to the lady. Conrad is his name.”

Rhys’ head began to swim with surprise. “But why did they go to Whitebrook? Who told him she would be there?”

“De Burgh,” Rod replied. “He knew of your plans and sent the prince to Whitebrook when the path to Ogmore became too dangerous. It would seem that John’s assassins are trailing the prince as well.”

Rhys stared at his brother a moment. “You are sure it is him?”

“Positive. His Germanic is so thick that you can hardly understand a word the man says, so he must be who he says he is.”

Rhys maintained his gaze a moment longer before finally averting his eyes, nodding his head as he did so. “Very well,” he said in a strangely subdued tone. “Then we will return to Whitebrook right away.”

Rod watched his brother’s passive movements before finally turning to the lady still on the bed. She sat there, wrapped in the coverlet, her wide eyes staring off into the room. She looked like she was made of stone, just sitting there, staring. Another glance at Rhys showed that he hadn’t even looked at the lady; he was preparing to dress. The mood of the room was strangely heavy and Rod suddenly felt like an intruder. He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, moving for the door. “I have a meal waiting for me downstairs. I’ll wait for you there.”

“Have my horse brought around if you would, please,” Rhys asked him quietly.

Rod nodded and, with a lingering glance at his brother and the lady, quit the room. He didn’t know what exactly was going on in that little chamber, but he was no fool. He could guess.

When he was gone, Elizabeau continued to sit on the bed as Rhys pulled his tunic over his head. He struggled to stay focused on the task of dressing, knowing that if he were to look at Elizabeau, he would crumble. He kept his back to her as he pulled on his boots, moving to the wall where he had put his pieces of armor. Bending over to retrieve his greaves, he was caught from behind by a soft, warm pair of arms encircling his waist.

He put his big hand over the warm ones clasped at his belly. He didn’t even know what to say to her, afraid that saying anything would cause them both to break. After the morning, he knew the woman was tattooed onto his heart as surely as if she had physically done such a thing. He couldn’t even think straight at the moment and struggled to collect himself.

“’Twill be all right,” she squeezed him tightly. “Everything will be all right. “

Rhys paused in dressing, feeling the odd sensation of tears stinging his eyes. He hadn’t experienced such a thing since he had been a young boy. Everything was swamping over him, emotions he could no longer control, feelings he no longer had rein of.

“I do not know if I can do this,” he hissed, words bursting forth from his mouth as he tried to stop them. “Even as I know that I must, I do not know if I have the strength to.”

She squeezed him again, her cheek against his broad back. “You do indeed have the strength,” she assured him softly. “You are the strongest man I know, the most righteous and the most noble. You can do this.”

He turned to look at her; it was a huge mistake. With her golden-red hair mussed and her sweet face glowing in the early light of morning, she looked like an angel. He suddenly dropped to his knees, enfolding her into his arms and burying his face in her belly. Elizabeau held him tightly.

“My sweet darling,” she crooned. “We have such precious memories, memories only between the two of us that no one can ever take away. I do not regret those memories, not for one moment. They are everything I knew they would be. If I cannot have you for the rest of my life, then at least I can have that. I am strangely satisfied and wholly grateful.”

He took a long, deep breath and looked up at her, his brilliant blue eyes glowing. She stroked his scratchy cheeks as he spoke.