Conrad put his hands out, imploringly. “Please,” he begged again, softly. “Will you not help us?”
Christopher just looked at him, mulling over the request and all of the implications involved. He was about to open his mouth when David suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Chris,” he said, his tone grim. “You’d better come. Dustin is feeling pains.”
Christopher bolted past Conrad and Rhys, running through the snow to the massive keep of Lioncross where his wife would soon be bearing their third child. Rhys watched him go, collecting himself and following after a moment. Only Conrad was left to stand with his silent general in the dark cold, his mind muddled with thoughts of Carys as the snow fell silently. He’d never been so miserable in his entire life.
He couldn’t dare to hope that he would ever see her again.
***
He had been her constant companion for weeks and Elizabeau wanted nothing to do with him. Surrounded by the luxury of Ludlow Castle in Herefordshire, she was in a beautiful place with high walls and spacious quarters. The problem was that she was also a prisoner and her jailor, a knight by the name of Sir Edward Radcliffe, never let her out of his sight. He was under strict orders to remain with the lady at all times and he took those orders literally.
It had been almost three months since she had been abducted from Caldicot. Someone had hit her over the head and she hadn’t regained consciousness for two days. By that time, she had been spirited back into England and she had spent the next few days traveling to Clifford Castle. After a few days stay there, she was moved to another castle, whose name she had long forgotten. Then came another, and still another. In the first month, she had been moved to seven different castles. She overheard some of her escort talking and she gathered, from their conversation, that they were trying to throw de Lohr off the track should he be following. She knew that Rhys would stop at nothing to find her and she was disheartened that her captors were trying to evade a rescue attempt. So at the end of the second week, she attempted her first escape.
It had constituted nothing more than just running away. She had been easily caught and brought back, then tied up for a day. But Radcliffe had eventually untied her upon her promise that she wouldn’t try again. She didn’t feel bad lying to him since he had kidnapped her in the first place, but by the fourth escape attempt, Radcliffe was feeling some frustration with her. And it was at that moment he had become her constant companion.
Radcliffe wasn’t a tall man; in fact, he was only a few inches taller than Elizabeau. But he had enormous shoulders, a big belly, big arms and big hands at the end of those arms. He had dark hair and non-descript blue eyes and wasn’t a particularly bad looking man if one liked the sort, but he did have a rather dumb expression on his face most of the time. Elizabeau could tell from their first conversation that he wasn’t a very bright man. But he was as strong as a bull and deeply, unquestionably obedient to Walter Clifford, his liege and a strong supporter of the king.
Elizabeau had decided she didn’t like him fairly early on. She was as mean and nasty as she could possibly be with him, mostly because she was terrified of her predicament. She wept for Rhys every night, wondering how he was dealing with her abduction and knowing he was more than likely severely blaming himself. She missed him so badly that her entire body ached, for days on end, and nothing would ease the ache. The ache took away her appetite and eventually, whenever she tried to eat, she would vomit it right back up again. She began dropping weight over the weeks, but strangely, her belly seemed to stay rounded and firm. After two months of vomiting and a belly that was beginning to grow, it eventually dawned on her that she was pregnant. That sweet, stolen morning so long ago had taken root and the result was growing inside her womb.
Momentary shock had turned to delirious delight. She knew full well what it meant and how the situation would turn horribly against both her and Rhys when the child was discovered, but all she could think of was the fact that she would be bearing the child of the man she was so desperately in love with. She imagined a son with his father’s handsome looks and brilliant blue eyes. It was, in fact, enough to soften her stand-offish nature and she and Radcliffe had become a strange sort of friends. She started being kind to him and he, dim-witted brute that he was, became a slave to her needs. It was an extremely odd dynamic but one that strangely worked.
But she made certain that Radcliffe did not know about her pregnancy. As time passed and her belly grew, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it from him. Eventually, he would figure it out for himself and then she would be in a bind; her child would be seen as heir presumptive and a new set of worries began to settle. Threat to her was one thing, but threat to her child was totally another. She knew, more strongly than ever, that she had to get word to Rhys on her location and condition. She knew the man would move heaven and earth to save her.