Rod’s brow furrowed. “Are you mad? She is the next queen of England. She is destined to rule.”
“She is destined to be my wife.”
“She belongs to another.”
The last two sentences were spoken rapidly, one atop the other. Rhys and Rod glared at each other, the brilliant blue eyes of Orlaith’s sons blazing passion and sorrow at one another. Rhys turned back to his ale and drained the second cup. When he set it down to pour a third, a soft white hand reached down to take it away. The brothers looked up to see Elizabeau standing next to the table.
She looked beautiful. Clad in one of Gwyneth’s old brown surcoats and wrapped in the dead woman’s cloak, she had brushed her golden red hair and plaited it into a thick braid that draped down one shoulder. There was something so incredibly lovely and serene about the woman, something indescribable and unreachable. She took Rhys’ cup and set it to the opposite side of the table as she took a chair.
“I would guess that you’ve had two or more cups of that stuff since you’ve been sitting here,” she said evenly, lifting an eyebrow at him when he frowned at her. “I’ve been around you enough to know that once you start, you don’t easily stop. And do not glare at me. Hand me some of that bread, please.”
Rhys pursed his lips irritably but stopped glaring as she had commanded. He broke off the center part of the bread for her and placed it in her hand. She smiled sweetly at him.
“Thank you,” she murmured, popping a soft piece in her mouth and casting a glance at Rod. “Good morn to you, Rod. It would seem that we saw each other earlier this morning under somewhat awkward circumstances.”
Rod gazed at the woman, seeing exactly what his brother did in her. She was exquisite, intelligent, strong and ethereal. He didn’t blame Rhys in the least for succumbing to her and he could see, clearly, how much control she had over the man.
“It was my fault for barging in when I did, my lady,” he replied, trying not to think of her naked body wrapped in a sheet. “I am sorry I disturbed you.”
He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke; Elizabeau continued to watch him as she ate, studying his movements, his expression, realizing he was either embarrassed or distracted. From the look on Rhys’ face, she had no doubt what the topic of conversation had been before she had arrived. She put her hand on Rhys’ arm.
“Have you eaten?” she asked him gently. “You must eat something. We have a long trip back to Whitebrook.”
He didn’t reply but dutifully took a piece of the bread and chewed on it. He remained silent as did Rod. Elizabeau put the last of the bread in her mouth and went for the cheese.
“Well,” she said brightly. “I can see that you both are brilliant conversationalists this morning. I suppose that I will have to do all of the talking.”
While Rod smiled weakly, Rhys continued to stare at the tabletop, slowly chewing his bread. Elizabeau could feel the man’s depression radiating from him like a black cloud but she refused to give in to it, not now. Not when they had so little time left together. She did not want to spend it being miserable. She would have misery enough in the years to come.
“Do you know that when I was very young, one of my mother’s gentleman friends bought me a monkey?” she said, watching Rod’s expression lighten somewhat. “It’s true. I had a little monkey with a round head and a little beard that moved very comically when it ate. He was a funny little thing; he liked to hang on the tops of doors and jump on unsuspecting people below. Once he jumped on a serving woman and do you know that she fainted dead away? And once she revived, she screamed for the rest of the day. I thought it was great fun but my mother was furious.”
Rod was grinning by the time she was finished. She was a very charming storyteller. “And did this horrific little creature have a name?” he asked.
She nodded. “His name was Rhys du Bois.” When Rhys suddenly looked up at her, she broke out into laughter. “I mean, his name was George. George the Dragonslayer.”
She was still laughing at Rhys and the man’s stern countenance cracked. His lips twitched with a smile as he shook his head at her. “You named a common beast after the greatest knight who has ever lived?”
Her smile faded. “You are the greatest knight who has ever lived.”
The air between them suddenly bristled with emotion. Rod could not only see it, he could feel it. He cleared his throat softly, not wanting the light moment to deteriorate. “If we are to make it back to Whitebrook at a reasonable hour, then we should go.”
Elizabeau nodded, wrapping her hand around Rhys’ gloved one. He squeezed it tightly, taking the pitcher of ale and downing it in three great swallows. Elizabeau watched him without a word, knowing that the man was looking for something to ease his pain. Rod stood up, gathering what was left of his brother’s armor from under the table as he prepared to leave.