Medieval Master Swordsmen(99)

When she was done speaking with the baby, she lost herself in the memories of Rhys, of the morning they had conceived Rory and of his strong body and warm lips. She could close her eyes and feel the texture of his hair or remember the smell of his skin. And then the tears would come but they would soon clear as she reminded herself to be grateful for what she had experienced. She only hoped Rhys would remind himself of the same during the dark days ahead that would undoubtedly face him.

It was a few hours before dawn as she sat staring into the fire, trying to describe the taste of sugared raspberries to her son. They were the soft whispers of a mother, punctuated by the crackling of the peat now and again. She wasn’t concerned with being alone anymore, but she was concerned with the next turning of the latch on the door; it would mean that Lewis had come for her and a cold blade await. She hoped that she would show dignity when being faced with it. She hoped it would be quick and relatively painless. She prayed Rhys would remain strong when he received the news; she almost couldn’t cry over it any longer. Tears were of no use to anyone.

The rattling of the latch startled her and, in a panic, she bolted to the window to see if the cloudy, snowy sky was growing light with the coming sun. She was terrified that she had lost all track of time and suddenly her time was ended. She could hear conversation outside the door, the muttering of the guards, and suddenly the panel lurched open and a familiar figure came through. In the darkness, she recognized Edward almost immediately and opened her mouth to greet him. But directly behind Edward was a man of such enormity that she was instantly terrified. She pressed back against the cold stone wall in fear.

Edward’s gaze found her in the dark room and he smiled timidly at her. Behind him, his colossal companion shut and bolted the door.

“My lady,” Edward said gently, a smile on his lips. “I have returned.”

Elizabeau would not come away from the wall; her frightened gaze moved between Edward and the massive knight still partially hidden in the darkness.

“Have you come to take me to the executioner?” she whispered in a tight voice. “It is not dawn yet, Edward. I am not ready to go.”

Edward paused in the middle of the room; he could see how terrified she was and he indicated his silent companion.

“God willing you will not have to go,” he murmured. “I have brought you hope.”

Elizabeau didn’t move; she remained pressed against the wall, her frightened gaze moving to the enormous man who was now removing his cloak. When he pulled off his helm and moved into the light, she still did not recognize him. He was hairy and bearded and dark.

Rhys could see the terror in her eyes. It only compounded the myriad of emotions already pounding through his veins. He was so glad to see her that he could not speak for the lump in his throat; she looked rather thin in the face, and miserable to boot, but he had never seen her more beautiful. She was every bit, and more, as delicious as he had remembered. Tears filled his eyes. But he swallowed the emotions strangling him enough so that he could speak.

“’Tis me, angel,” he said as gently as he could. “I know I do not look like myself, but it was necessary so I would not be recognized.”

Something seemed to change in Elizabeau’s face; her terror was turning to stark, naked shock. Her dark green eyes bulged wildly and her hands flew to her mouth. But still, she remained against the wall, unmoving, as if terrified that she was dreaming. Rhys raked his hair back, away from his face, so that she could see his features more clearly as he slowly moved towards her.

“Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “It is really and truly me. You knew that I would find you somehow, did you not? God has….”

“Rhys?” she finally squeaked.

He smiled, nodding. “It is I.”

She gasped and great, fat tears suddenly spilled onto her cheeks. “It is truly you?”

He laughed softly at her shock. “Truly.”

With a squeal, she suddenly hurled herself off of the wall and flew into his arms. As Edward watched, Rhys swallowed her up in his gigantic embrace, smothering her with flesh and armor and complete, obvious adoration. Elizabeau wept, her arms around Rhys’ neck, as he buried his face in her hair. The emotion between them was a palpable thing, filling the room like a warm, liquid embrace. The delirious joy was everywhere. At some point, a soft sob or two filled the air as Rhys’ emotions got the better of him. He was weeping with her. When Edward realized this, he had to wipe away his own tears. One could not watch the reunion   and could not help but be deeply touched by it.

“How…,” Elizabeau gasped as Rhys’ lips found her mouth. “How did you find me? How did you know?”