A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  Cynan's estimate proved to be far short of true. Two hours later, Gareth's head kept nodding forward and he would jerk himself awake and urge the slowing Isrid on. Elena had not once awakened and even through his exhaustion, Gareth couldn't quell the tender feelings her form evoked as it pressed against him for warmth and comfort. Without realizing it, his head bent forward until it rested on the silky softness of her hair. Despite their days on the road, she still smelled fresh and clean. Like mint, he thought.

  Gareth awoke with a start, realizing Isrid had finally slowed to a stop. Rubbing his eyes, he nudged his horse with his spurs. "Come on, boy. We've got to catch up to Cynan." He stared hard into the darkening fog, but could see no movement indicating Cynan was in front of him. "Cynan!" he yelled and his voice was muted and swallowed by the swirling fog.

  Elena started at Gareth's shout and straightened. "Are we there yet?"

  "Damn!" Gareth muttered. Glancing down at Elena he said, "No, we're not there yet."

  "How much further, then?"

  Gareth hesitated. "I'm not sure."

  Elena turned to ask Cynan but saw only thick white mist in all directions. "Where is Cynan?"

  Again, Gareth hesitated. "I'm not sure."

  Elena turned back to look at him, acutely conscious despite her worry, of how close their lips were, inanely noticing the plush stubble that covered his face. "What do you mean you're not sure?"

  Gareth cleared his throat. "I think I fell asleep and Isrid stopped. Cynan must have kept riding thinking I was still behind him."

  "How could you do something as stupid as that?" Elena demanded.

  "Perhaps I was exhausted as I've had to guide the horse for five days since you're too frightened to do it!" he shot back.

  "And I suppose if I hadn't been here you would be any less exhausted?"

  "No, but--" Gareth closed his mouth abruptly and quickly jumped down from the horse.

  "Where are you going? Don't you dare leave me stranded on this horse alone!"

  Pulling the reins over Isrid's head, Gareth glared at Elena. "Not another word do I want to hear out of you, do you understand? Not a complaint, not a whine, not even a loud breath. In fact, why don't you go back to sleep? 'Tis the only time I can be sure you won't be hollering about your comfort."

  Elena silently ran through the litany of foul names she had assigned to Gareth over the past week. When Gareth pulled Isrid forward sharply, Elena quickly grabbed the horse's mane to keep from falling off. Realizing she would have an easier time riding the horse astride rather than sideways, she threw her right leg over Isrid's neck and rearranged her skirts.

  Gareth led Isrid through the thick fog, trying to stay true to the direction he hoped would lead him to Cynan's uncle's small keep. In the eerie silence of the fog-shrouded woods, Elena lost all track of time. She was just about to doze off when Isrid came to an abrupt halt.

  "What is it?" she whispered.

  "Straight ahead, do you see it? A fire. Cynan must have realized we'd fallen behind and lit a fire hoping I'd see it. 'Tis a wonder he was able to find wood dry enough to burn."

  "How can you be sure it's Cynan and Bryant?"

  Gareth laughed. "How many other travelers do you think would be out on a night like this in the middle of Wales?"

  Elena shrugged and held on tightly to the saddle, eagerly anticipating the warmth of a fire on her chilled fingers. In a few minutes, they entered the small clearing.

  "Damn," Gareth muttered under his breath. It was not Cynan and Bryant they had stumbled upon, but four large, vile looking men sprawled around the fire. Mercenaries, Gareth thought as he spotted the motley array of armor and weapons piled haphazardly about. And drunk too, no doubt, judging from the empty wine skins lying about.

  "Hoohoo, laddies! Did I not tell you, "Ask and ye shall receive?' Now we were just wishing we had a woman and here one comes to us. Led by a servant, no less."

  The other three men pushed themselves us. "And a comely wench, she is."

  "I've not had one that clean since I was a boy," said a third as he stood. "Come'ere, lass. Come and enjoy our hospitality."

  Turning, Gareth pushed hard against Isrid. "Back! Get back!" Isrid backed a few paces but stopped when he ran into a tree. "Come on you--" A large hand on Gareth's shoulder spun him about.

  "You wouldn't be meanin' to keep her all to yourself, now would you, whelp?"

  Gareth looked over his shoulder at Elena. "Run!" he yelled as he swung with all his might at the man in front of him, landing a cracking blow to the man's nose. "Go on!" he yelled again as Elena stayed where she was.

  Spurred to action by the urgency in his voice, Elena reached for the reins that were dangling in the mud. She screamed as one of the men grabbed them first. Twining her hands in Isrid's mane, she kicked the horse as hard as she could. Isrid reared up, nearly throwing her. Holding on to him with all the strength in her legs, Elena pulled on his head to turn him around, but a second man was grabbing for her from the right. She kicked as hard as she could, aiming at the drunken man's face and then swung Isrid back toward Gareth. He was battling the other two men, who, despite their drunkenness were moving swiftly. Though Gareth was smaller than either brute, he landed blow after blow on chin, nose, and stomach. Elena stifled a scream as the men finally organized enough to circle Gareth. One of them grabbed Gareth from behind and the other moved to deliver a crippling blow, but in a flash of movement, Gareth twisted from his captor's embrace and, as if from nowhere, a knife flashed in his hand. The meaty fist that had been aimed at Gareth now glanced off the other man's shoulder. Before the man had a chance to recover from throwing the punch, Gareth brought the knife down to land between his attacker's shoulder blades. The stabbed man fell onto his partner and the two landed on the ground. Spinning quickly, looking for other adversaries, his gaze met Elena's. Without urging, she moved Isrid around the fire. As the stunned mercenaries regained their senses and groped their way to their feet, Gareth swung up behind her. Applying his spurs harder than he ever had to Isrid's flanks, he sent the powerful horse into an immediate gallop. Elena squeezed her eyes shut as the horse easily cleared the fire and crashed through the brush on the other side.

  Although he knew not which direction they were headed, Gareth kept Isrid at a full run until the horse began to tire. When he dismounted and began leading his horse, he realized that Isrid had been running up hill for the last half mile. Pausing to pat the gallant animal on the neck, Gareth looked around, noticing that the fog was almost gone at this higher elevation, replaced by bright moonlight. He continued leading Isrid, being careful to avoid rocky spots over which the tired horse might trip. Halfway up the mountain in front of them, Gareth spotted a huge cluster of rocks.

  "You'll have to walk a bit," Gareth said quickly to Elena who, despite her weariness, could not close her eyes. "This mountain is very steep and I would have us get to those boulders lest your suitors decide to follow us."

  Elena nodded and threw her leg over the saddle. Gareth grabbed her waist as she slid off the horse and held her up when her knees went out from under her. "I'm afraid we must hurry," he said apologetically. "Though they were drunk, those men were trained mercenaries and I fear they may still have wits enough for a chase. Do you have the strength?"

  No, Elena almost said. But remembering the look on the man's face that had grabbed for her sent a burst of adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Let's go," she said.

  They scrambled up the steep face of the mountain. Elena clenched her skirts above her knees with one hand as she sought for rocks to pull herself along with the other. The blood began to ring in her ears and she felt herself growing dizzy when Gareth finally stopped. He thrust Isrid into a shallow cave concealed behind several boulders and reached for Elena. In the pale moonlight that leaked through the rocks, they clung to one another, thankful to be alive, thankful to find some small comfort after their harrowing escape. After several long moments, Elena's breathing slowed, but her heart kept racing.
As the fear of danger faded, she became more aware of Gareth's strong arms around her, his hard chest warm under her cheek. A shiver that was not from cold and which she had never before felt ran through her body and she slowly raised her head.

  Gareth rested his cheek on Elena's wind-strewn hair. He clutched her tightly to him as harrowing thoughts of her near fate flashed through his mind. When he felt her stir, he instinctively bent his head lower and when she raised her face toward his, his lips tentatively claimed hers. Elena offered no protest, merely a soft sigh which Gareth quickly swallowed as his mouth pressed more firmly against hers.

  Elena's lips parted, as if of their own accord, seeking more of Gareth's kiss. When his tongue softly traced the sensitive skin just inside her lip, Elena leaned closer to him, a low moan escaping her throat. Gareth's sensual exploration of Elena's mouth grew bolder at that sound and his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer still until their bodies were touching from head to toe.

  When the kiss finally ended, Elena experienced an entirely new sensation: shyness. Gareth, too, seemed not to know how to act, and clumsily turned away and began unbuckling Isrid's saddle.

  "We'd best get some rest," he said after several moments of strained silence.

  "Yes," Elena said shakily. Clearing her throat, she said, "Do you have any idea where we are."

  Gareth grinned ruefully. In the dim light, Elena could only see the flash of his white teeth and unwillingly hungered for another kiss. "To tell the truth, I haven't the faintest idea where we might be. I'll have to take a look tomorrow morning."

  As Gareth shook out his blanket, he said, "I'm sorry, we'll have to share. Cynan and Bryant have your blanket."

  Elena tried to keep her voice steady as she said, "That's alright." She did not know how she was going to sleep so close to Gareth. She silently said a prayer of thanks that it was too dark for him to see her shaking hands as she took an edge of the blanket and lowered herself onto the ground near him. As he drew close against her, trying to fit under the narrow strip of wool, all thoughts of comfort, of beautiful dresses, of his rudeness over the past weeks, of her anger at a lady of her station caught in such circumstances, all of those thoughts faded away as her lips tingled with remembrances of his kiss and recollections of his valiant fight to save her. Before she could follow those thoughts, Elena was asleep.

  She awoke slowly the next morning, aware even before she opened her eyes of Gareth's arms around her, cushioning her from the hard ground and keeping her warm. When she did open her eyes, she found herself snuggled against him, her head nestled beneath his chin, her lips pressed against his skin. The musky smell of worn leather and warm skin clung to his neck and was oddly appealing. Gently lifting her head, she saw that he was still asleep, the lines of his face softened by slumber. Before she had a chance to study him, though, his eyes slowly opened and Elena stared, fascinated. She had never thought grey could be such a warm, interesting color.

  "Good morning," he said, startling her out of her reverie. She quickly drew back and sat up.

  "I don't suppose there's anything to eat but dried meat, again, is there?" she said, trying to sound annoyed.

  Gareth smiled and rolled over to his saddlebag. "As a matter of fact, I was saving these just for such an occasion," he said as he pulled out a small package and handed it to Elena.

  "What is it?"

  "Open it and see."

  Elena untied the string and gasped in delight. "Dried figs! " She quickly took a bite of one and closed her eyes in ecstasy. When she finished the fig and licked her fingers, she started laughing. Gareth looked at her askance as she fell back on the blanket laughing still harder. When Elena finally caught her breath, she wiped her eyes and said, "I don't even like figs!" Gareth shared her mirth for a moment until the urge to kiss her was too great. Leaning over, he silenced her laughter with a languid kiss.

  She began to kiss him back, but in the light of day, she was suddenly reminded of her position, of the inappropriateness of how they had spent the night. "Don't!" she said as she pushed him away.

  Embarrassed, Gareth rolled to his feet and stalked out of the small cave. What had he been thinking? he wondered as he looked into the sparse woods on the mountain, looking for any sign that they had been followed. She was still the same spoiled wretch who had tormented him for the past fortnight. Last night's kiss was simply born of relief to be alive and—

  "I'll be damned," Gareth said, thoughts of Elena immediately evaporating as he looked around at the mountain range they were in. Quickly scurrying back to the cave, he said, "Gather everything up! We're not but a day's ride from my father's keep."

  Elena finished her fig and slowly stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her gown. Although Gareth seemed to have forgotten what had transpired between them the night before and just moments ago, Elena could not help but remember and the memories made her feel embarrassed and awkward.

  "Come on! Pack up the bag while I saddle Isrid."

  Taking refuge from her embarrassment in haughtiness, Elena snapped, "I am not a stable hand and I refuse to be treated like one."

  Gareth laughed. He was so glad he would be home by nightfall even Elena couldn't dampen his spirits. "Then pray, sit ye down, my lady whilst I, the noble and gallant Sir Gareth do attend your every need." With a cheerful, if tuneless, whistle, Gareth quickly packed their few belongings and saddled Isrid. Leading the horse outside he began to walk north, across the broad mountain. Elena followed several paces behind, scolding herself for being so flustered by a silly kiss. She'd been kissed before, had she not? And by far better men than lowly Sir Gareth ap-something or another. Of course, a small voice whispered in her head, not by a better kisser than Sir Gareth. The very skin behind her knees tingled when she remembered their passionate kiss of the night before. Elena watched Gareth's broad shoulders as he picked a careful path across the rocky mountainside. He was unlike any of the men she had ever been attracted to. Whereas Lord Edgeford was tall and slender, Gareth was just a few inches taller than her, and compactly built, his arms and chest bound in hard muscles. Edgeford had golden blond hair that fell in carefully placed waves: Gareth’s thick unruly dark brown hair forever seemed to be curling in the wrong direction. Edgeford's pale blue eyes gazed with tranquility on life while nothing escaped Gareth’s multi-faceted grey eyes, taking in every detail of the world around him, sparkling with curiosity. In truth Elena was not sure if she liked or scorned Gareth for those very differences.

  ***

  By nightfall, Gareth and Elena were riding into the quiet bailey of a small stone and wood keep. Despite her weariness, Elena noticed how immaculate everything seemed, even for a keep of this size. Firewood was stacked in neat rows against one wall; the hard packed dirt around the keep was swept clean of any clutter or debris; a trim hedge encircled what looked to be a well kept garden and arbor; and the pale stone of the keep gleamed warmly in the pearly light of dusk. A guard approached them with a pine torch and cried, "Ho! Stand and be known!" Recognition dawned in his voice as he shouted over his shoulder, "'Tis Sir Gareth! He's home!" Within moments, the bailey was alive with activity. The door to the keep swung open with a loud creak and several men poured out, among them, Cynan and Bryant.

  "Are we glad to see you!" said Cynan. "Did you take the scenic route?" he joked.

  Helping Elena down, Bryant asked, "My lady, are you alright?"

  "Yes, of course." Elena suddenly felt flustered and conspicuous with all of the people crowding around them.

  "Gareth!" Gareth and Elena both turned at the booming voice behind them. An older version of Gareth was pushing his way through the small crowd. When he reached Gareth, he hugged him tightly and muttered what Elena could only guess was a Welsh prayer.

  Gareth and his father spoke animatedly for several minutes before Gareth remembered Elena. Turning, he switched back to English and said, "Father, this is the Lady Elena de Vignon. I'm afraid she's our reluctant travel companion."

  "Blessed St.
Dafydd! You don't mean to tell me you've abducted her. I'll grant you, she's a beauty, but--"

  Laughing at Elena's incredulous stare and his father's mistaken conclusions, Gareth interrupted. "You need not begin praying for my blackened soul, father. Lady Elena was traveling with King Richard when his party was attacked. She was separated from the group and we were going to escort her to an abbey or one of the border lords' keeps, but..."

  "But you've forgotten every Welsh method of tracking and traveling you used to have to find them and here you are, where you least expected to be, eh?"

  "In truth, this was my final destination, but I doubt the Lady Elena ever hoped to visit this far into Wales."

  Turning to Elena, Gareth's father said, "Welcome, my lady, to Eyri Keep. I am Morgan ap Cyryth. I am honored to have such a fair lady in my humble home. Please come inside so you can bathe, rest and eat."

  This was more like it Elena thought. She wondered why Gareth had no manners when his sire was so courtly, but she was not about to waste another moment on the son while thoughts of a bath and clean clothes were foremost on her mind. Placing her hand in Morgan's, she let him lead her into the main hall, a large room with polished wooden walls and freshly strewn rushes on the stone floors. The tables were grouped in a large U shape and each had a pitcher and several loaves of bread placed in the center. Large chairs, complete with embroidered cushions were gathered near the one large window that was open to the beauty of the summer day. The entire hall bespoke hospitality and comfort and Elena was immediately at ease. There was more grace and warmth to this hall than in Middleham, or Nottingham, or even her parents own manor.

  "Enid!" Morgan yelled. A small round woman hurried across the hall.

  "You needn't shout, I'm not deaf. Although if you keep yelling as such, I may soon be so," she nagged good-naturedly.

  "Enid would you help dear Lady Elena be as comfortable as possible in this drafty place? Lady Elena, this is Enid, Cynan's most tolerant wife." Enid was shorter and older than Elena, but energy and efficiency radiated from her. Her black hair was pulled back from her head with a blue kerchief and fell in a lavish cascade down her back. Although she was not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word—her face being too round and her complexion too ruddy—her sparkling dark eyes and smiling mouth, along with the extravagance of her long hair combined to make her very attractive nonetheless.