Medieval Master Swordsmen(78)
The man looked dubiously. “We are loaded with goods and supplies. We do not have room for passengers.”
“I will make it worth your while.”
The man eyed him a moment before turning to the man next to him and conversing with him in Italian. There was a good deal of arguing going on as Rhys and Elizabeau watched. Elizabeau kept looking over her shoulder, waiting for the king’s men to come hurling out at them but, so far, the streets remained relatively quiet. She was as nervous as a cat while Rhys was quite calm. In fact, even in the face of his brother’s beating and murderers all around, he had been nothing but completely collected. As the two men argued in a foreign language, Elizabeau pressed up against Rhys for comfort and his left arm went around her tightly. She immediately felt better.
After more arguing, the man who spoke their language turned to them. “All right,” he said. “But the price will be high. Five gold crowns. Each.”
“What?” Elizabeau blurted. “That is robbery. It is piracy!”
The man looked at her lazily. “Then find another boat.”
She opened her mouth to retort but Rhys turned her around, away from the boat so they could converse in private. While she fumed, he put both hands on her arms and bent down to look her in the eye.
“Not to worry about the price,” he said softly. “I am only concerned with getting you out of here. I would pay the Devil with my soul if I thought it would see you through to safety.”
She lost some of her fury. “But we do not have any money.”
His brilliant blue eyes twinkled. “Aye, we do.”
She followed him back across the wharf to the area they had just come from. Elizabeau recognized the metalworker’s lean-to and they paused in front of it.
“Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right inside so if you see any danger heading our way, scream.”
“Why can’t I come in?” she frowned.
“Because I want you to wait here.”
“What are you going to do?”
He unsheathed one of his swords, taking a long look at it. “See how much the man will give me for my swords.”
Her eyes widened. “Nay,” she breathed. “You cannot do that. Those are beautiful weapons and….”
He bent down and kissed her swiftly. “Just stay here. I will be right back.”
She opened her mouth to dispute him but he ducked inside, away from any further conversation. He had wanted her to stay outside so she wouldn’t argue with him in front of the metalworker. Frustrated, she sighed sharply and turned to look at the sea, watching the men continue to load up supplies on the Italian galley. She had never been on the sea before and wondered fleetingly if she would become sea-sick. Her mother had told her a story once of being violently ill on a sea voyage. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun, she watched the seagulls as they rode the drafts against the sea. In spite of the harrowing circumstances, it was shaping up to be a surprisingly beautiful day.
It was her last coherent thought before there was a sharp pain to the side of her head and the lights went out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Year of our Lord 1204, late February
Lioncross Abbey, the Welsh Marches
It was snowing heavily, a February winter that had seen days upon days of snow. A very pregnant woman with a thick, long mane of golden hair stood at one of the lancet windows in her husband’s solar, the oilcloth peeled back so she could watch the bailey below. She was petite and extraordinarily beautiful, with eyes the color of storm clouds. Lioncross Abbey Castle, her home, had once been a Roman military camp, then an abbey when the Romans finally left, and eventually the castle had been built on top of it, hence the name. It had an odd shape to it but a massive bailey that could accommodate an army. But it wasn’t an army that the woman was looking for.
Sighing, she turned from the window and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. It was chilly. The Lady Dustin de Lohr was waiting for her husband, his brother and some of his men to return from a scouting expedition to the north. For almost three months they had been searching for the woman who would be the next queen of England, Richard’s heir and meant to replace King John. The Lady Elizabeau Treveighan had disappeared from Caldicot last November and de Lohr had been searching ferociously for her ever since.
So had a number of other people, a Teutonic prince included. It seemed to be the most pressing thing that the country was facing, even more than the disgruntled barons who waged skirmishes against the king. All of the king’s opposition had been hunting for her and the king, if he knew her location, was not saying. Fear was that Queen Eleanor had the girl and had moved her to France; worse yet, had done away with her already. But Lady Dustin’s husband and his followers did not seem to believe that.