Medieval Master Swordsmen(92)

Edward planned to make a slight detour before reaching his destination.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN



Miracles do happen.

That was what Christopher told his men the night his son was born. When the earl and the physic had retreated to the bedchamber with the intention of cutting into Lady Dustin to extract the child, they had walked into the tail end of the child’s birth. The midwife was just pulling the baby free of his mother’s body by the time Christopher entered the room, causing the man to list heavily to one side until the physic guided him into a chair. Curtis Richard Henry de Lohr had been a very fat, lusty baby who screamed quite loudly his displeasure at being born. Christopher had held his wife and wept.

With that, the earl seemed inordinately attached to his family for the next few days as if appreciating what he had almost lost. If he wasn’t with his wife, who was still recovering from the difficult birth, then he was holding his newborn son while his two young daughters followed him around. The girls were enamored by the baby and, like moth to the flame, followed wherever he went. Lady Christin de Lohr was four years of age and her sister, Lady Brielle, was almost three. They were sweet, chatty and adorable.

Rhys should have been irritated with the earl’s distraction but found he could not muster the energy. He had been there when Christin and Brielle had been born and, as Dustin had told him, the girls looked to him as an uncle. Until three months ago, he had been very proud of his relationship with them. But the past several weeks had seen that dissolve somewhat until just after the baby was born and the girls were upset, looking for comfort. After some relenting on Rhys’ part, and a little coaxing, they found it in his arms. They wouldn’t even leave him to go to their Uncle David. The night Curtis had been born, Rhys had sat for hours with the sleeping toddlers in his arms, more at peace than he had been in a very long time.

But the bliss of a new son and healthy family faded as more important things came to the forefront. Though aware of Rhys’ plan to leave for Ludlow before the bulk of the army, Christopher had asked him to wait one more day to see if de Braose’s troops would arrive. He wanted Rhys to be completely informed of the strength of the coming army before leaving alone for Ludlow and they needed de Braose’s five hundred men. But a day’s delay saw no incoming army and by the next day, Rhys prepared to leave at dawn.

His best option, as he and Christopher had decided, was to pose as a bachelor knight seeking shelter. In his old armor from St. Briavels and his shaggy appearance, he did not look anything like the Rhys du Bois that John’s supporters were familiar with. Taking his great-grandfather’s name of Armand de Foix, he was prepared to call upon Ludlow and search every inch of the place for Elizabeau. They knew she was there; all he had to do was find her before the siege began. His excitement, his anxiety, grew.

Shortly after dawn, Rhys, Rod and David were making their way to the stable to retrieve Rhys’ charger. Christopher had said everything he needed to say to the man and was back inside the keep with his men; the rest was up to Rhys. There was small talk between the three knights, mostly because there was nothing more of significance to say. By the time they hit the stables, David begged off to return to the keep while Rhys and Rod continued into the barn. Collecting a solid gray stallion that belonged to Christopher, but Rhys had become rather fond of, Rhys mounted up.

Rod stood at his feet, adjusting a stirrup strap that was threatening to shake loose. Rhys pulled tight his gloves and secured his helm. They fussed for a moment, each not looking at the other, feeling the impending mission like a heady weight. Then Rod lifted his face.

“I suppose anything emotional I say at this moment might sound trite or foolish,” he said. “But I do want to wish you Godspeed, brother. And the very best of luck in finding Elizabeau.”

Rhys nodded, his bright blue eyes fixed on his brother. “I will find her,” he said confidently.

Rod just nodded his head, not saying what he was thinking. He didn’t know about the conversation between Conrad and Rhys and Christopher; his brother had not confided in him. For all he knew, it was still the same offer on the table; you will find her only to turn her over to the prince. He seriously wondered what would become of his brother when all was said and done and Elizabeau was a princess of Saxony. He didn’t even want to think about it.

“Well,” he slapped the charger on the buttocks to get it moving. “Take care of yourself. I will see you at Ludlow.”

Rhys winked at him before slamming his visor down and proceeding out into the gently blowing snow of the bailey.

The brothers moved out into the ward of Lioncross, an oddly shaped yard that had two distinct halves to it. As they made their way towards the main gate, the sentries on guard suddenly rushed to it and began pulling one of the massive panels open. Snow had blown up against it and the men had to shovel the snow out of the way with their boots. Rhys reined his charger to a halt, watching the soldiers try to clear the gate, assuming they were clearing it for him. But two of the men yanked the gate open as the snow began to clear and a knight on horseback abruptly charged through.