A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  "From what is she seeking refuge?"

  "She was separated from King Richard's retinue in an attack several weeks ago and she merely wishes to remain in your safe keeping until an escort can be arranged to return her to England."

  "That could be months!" the abbess declared.

  "Yes, Reverend Mother, I realize that. You see, it would be best if it took several months as Lady Elena is well aware of our plans to aid Henry Tudor gain the throne. If Richard found out what she knew, he may assume she was a willing conspirator."

  "You seek the overthrow of our sovereign, then?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elena watched Gareth and though he didn't show it, she felt sure he was panicked. She had heard his father assure him that this abbey was sympathetic to Henry's cause, but she was gaining the distinct impression that this abbess was as loyal to Richard as an English nun. "We seek only a Welsh ruler for Wales, madam."

  The abbess stared at him through narrowed eyes before asking, "Does she have any luggage?" When Gareth shook his head, she continued, "She'll have to wear a habit. We cannot have her wandering about in unnecessary finery. Bring her in."

  Elena stared at the woman's retreating back in amazement. Turning to Gareth, she raised her eyebrows.

  "At least you'll be safe here," he said defensively. "And you can return to England as soon as she is able to arrange a safe escort."

  "Yes, in several months! I can't stay in an abbey for months! Especially not with old Mother Doom."

  "Elena, hush! There is no where else I can take you that can ensure any hope of seeing you home safely. Will you please try to behave?"

  "I am not a child, Sir Gareth. I need not be told how to act," Elena said as coldly and regally as she could. But despite her carefully constructed haughty demeanor, she was loathe to have Gareth and his friends leave. Turning, she reluctantly followed the abbess into the dim stone building.

  ***

  Within the hour, the men were ready to depart.

  "I'm sure we can find lodging in the town if you require," the dour abbess said.

  "That won't be necessary, Reverend Mother," said Gareth. "We would like to get a few more miles down the road before nightfall. We must reach Aberystwyth within three days and we dare not tarry."

  The abbess pressed her lips into a thin line. "Very well."

  Gareth waited for her blessing. When none was coming, he glanced at his friends and then cleared his throat. "May we have your blessing, Reverend Mother?"

  The abbess hesitated a brief moment. "Go with God."

  Gareth nodded at her. Turning his horse in a tight circle, he spurred it into a gallop, Cynan's and Bryant's mounts close behind.

  "She's an old dragon," Cyan remarked several miles down the road when Gareth finally slowed his horse.

  "Though I may burn in hell for saying so, I agree with you," Gareth said wryly.

  Bryant looked worriedly over his shoulder. "Are you sure we should have left Lady Elena there? They seem none too friendly."

  "The Lady Elena can well handle even the sternest of nuns. She has the tongue of an adder and a backbone of steel."

  When Bryant looked unconvinced, Cynan said, "Perhaps after Aberystwyth we could come back by here and check on her."

  Bryant's frown eased. "Mayhap we should take her back to Eyri Keep as well. Surely she's as safe there as in an abbey."

  Though Gareth refused to name the emotion that made his blood boil at Bryant's suggestion, jealousy made him say, "Need I remind you, Bryant, that Lady Elena is engaged to be married?" He was about to say more, but the crimson flush that crept up Bryant's face made him bite his tongue. Thank God that woman was out of his hair! he thought. Perhaps now he could concentrate on the importance of Henry Tudor's cause instead of forever wondering at Elena's relationship with his friends and family.

  As he urged his horse back into a gallop, he missed Cynan's comforting pat on Bryant's shoulder that accompanied his knowing grin.

  Chapter 11

  "Captain, you must gather your men at once. The rebels are to gather at Aberystwyth in less than a week. You haven't a moment to spare," the abbess insisted.

  Sitting on a hard stool by the fire, Elena started. Did the abbess not remember she was here? The abbess was speaking to a rough looking man who reminded Elena more of the mercenaries she and Gareth had encountered rather than a captain of the king. Trying to remain as still as possible, she concentrated on the rapid Welsh.

  "They were here not two hours ago to drop this ynfyd plentyn off. They told me their plans and expected me to bless their journey."

  Ynfyd plentyn, Elena racked her brain for a translation. The abbess had such a strange accent, quite unlike any of Gareth's friends or family. Stupid child? Elena sat up straight. She was just about to tell the abbess exactly what she thought of her hospitality when a realization struck her. The old crow must not realize I understand Welsh, Elena thought. Why else would she speak so boldly in front of me? Elena swallowed. Unless she means to kill me. Her pulse quickened and Elena thought frantically. No, that can't be it. If the abbess is turning in Gareth as a rebel, she must be for Richard and would want no harm done to one of Richard's favorites. And yet, I was traveling with those very rebels! The woman must think I don't know what she's saying. Elena willed her breathing to slow and concentrated on the captain's response.

  "If I chased down every Welshman who wanted to kill the king, I'd need several thousand more men and the king's leave to slaughter every babe in it's cradle. Now if you'll excuse me, madame."

  Elena dared a peek over her shoulder towards the captain's voice. Her heart froze and her breath rushed from her lungs as she recognized the face of one of the drunken men she and Gareth had stumbled across in the fog not a week before! She turned back to the fire, willing herself into the smallest space possible that the captain might not notice her.

  "You idiot. It is not three Welshmen you are chasing down. It is a meeting between Welsh leaders and Henry Tudor's closest advisors! They are meeting at Aberystwyth in three days." When the captain remained unconvinced, the abbess's eyes narrowed to mere slits as she said, "I'm sure King Richard would not be pleased to hear that one of his captains refused to prevent traitors from plotting against him. I send monthly reports to His Majesty's religious advisors and I would not hesitate to tell them of such shoddy soldiery."

  The captain stared at the abbess for several seconds before saying "'Twill take me several hours to gather my men. They've been training throughout these mountains."

  "Then you'd best not waste any more time here, had you?" the abbess said acidly. Without a further word, the captain stalked out of the small room.

  "You must go and change. I can't have you wandering about in such clothes." So absorbed was Elena in thinking of a way to warn Gareth that she did not even realize the abbess was addressing her in English. "You there!" Elena jumped and quickly stood.

  "Yes?"

  "Take these clothes and change in the next room. Be sure to cover your hair with this veil."

  "Is there a privy I may attend first?"

  "Out back. Go and return quickly and disturb none of the sisters on your way."

  "Of course not, madame," Elena said as meekly as her temper would allow. Once outside, she ducked around the main building of the abbey in the direction she had seen Bryant lead her horse. She said her own prayer of thanks that she came across no one as she crossed through the vegetable garden to the stable. As she made her way through the dimly lit stalls, a loud grunt stopped her in her tracks. She waited in agony for several seconds before continuing on. As she rounded a corner, she discovered the source of the grunt and cautiously edged her way around the sleeping stable hand, who was clutching a large jug in one hand. Finally at the far end of the stable, she found the horse she had ridden since her arrival at Eyri Keep.

  The large mare raised her head at Elena's arrival but did not whinny or neigh; Welsh horses were trained for silence. "Greetings, Breila," Elena whispe
red as she untied the rope from the horse's bridle. "Now," she asked the horse, "dare I risk the time it would take to saddle you?" One look at Breila's back which came to Elena's nose and she knew she must have a saddle. Looking around the stall, she saw her saddle hanging on the wall. Cursing each clink and rattle of the trappings, Elena wrestled the saddle to Breila's broad back. She cinched the straps as tightly as she could and prayed she would not fall off when they reached a gallop. "If only there were another entrance to this barn," she muttered as she led Breila toward the open door.

  As she was about to pass the sleeping stable hand, he snorted abruptly and sat up. When he saw Elena, he slurred, "Her grace said I wasn't to let you go anywhere."

  Elena set her face into its most imperious expression and looked down her nose at the man who was trying to stand. Mustering her Welsh vocabulary, she said, "I am going for a ride. I suggest you keep your mouth shut lest I be tempted to tell the abbess what sort of drunken lout is maintaining her stables. I'm sure she would not be at all pleased with such conduct."

  The man's eyes grew wide with fright and as he ducked his head he asked sheepishly, "Is there anything I can do for you while you're out riding, my lady?"

  "Yes. You can try to sleep off your intoxication so you may be sober when I return." The servant obediently lay down and Elena marched resolutely to the great barn doors. Peering outside, she waited several minutes until the one nun in sight finished weeding a vegetable patch and went into one of the smaller buildings surrounding the main abbey. Pulling Breila behind her, Elena ran for the cover of the nearby forest. Once inside the protective darkness of the trees, she struggled into the saddle and turned her mount west in the direction Gareth and his friends had taken. Keeping to the shelter of the forest, she followed the direction of the road until the encroaching darkness prevented her from seeing where she was going in the thick woods. Rather than stopping, she cautiously made her way to the road, which was faintly illumined by a sliver of the new moon.

  As Breila plodded confidently on, Elena finally reflected on the consequences of her rash actions. By riding to warn Gareth that Richard's men were on his trail, she was, in effect, aligning herself with Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. But did she support the Welshman's claim to the throne? Never before had Elena been posed with such a question. As a woman she simply had to accept the mandates of those in power. Never before had she been given the opportunity to affect the outcome of a political gambit. It was at once a frightening and heady feeling.

  Suddenly a bird screeched overhead, startling Elena and sending all thoughts of kings and causes from her mind. What had possessed her to venture unescorted into the depths of Wales? She would no doubt end up dead and deservedly so for acting so stupidly. If wild animals did not eat her, she had no doubt highway men would strike her down. Roads in England, let alone Wales, were no place for unescorted women. Oh if only Gareth were here, he'd--Elena stopped in mid-thought. She didn't need Gareth. Any man would do, she merely needed an escort to discourage any predators, be they man or beast, from attacking her. And yet, a small voice inside her said, she had never felt as secure and protected as she had the night she and Gareth stumbled upon the group of mercenaries. Gareth had told her to escape, giving no thought to his own safety. Elena doubted any men of her acquaintance in Richard's court would ever be so selfless. Certainly not the foppish Edgeford. He more likely to call for his guards and then run for safety. As for her fiancé, although she scarcely knew him, she would not be surprised if Brackley offered to share her with the ruffians.

  The later it grew and the colder Elena became, the more she wished she were nestled against Gareth's warm chest, as she had been that night in the cave. She did not feel well, not at all. What in the world was she doing out here?

  Elena awoke with a start as Breila stumbled over a rock. How long had she been asleep? She looked up at the sky. The moon had set, but she had no idea how to read the stars. Suppose she had missed an important turn off? Elena reined in the huge mare.

  "Now what do I do, Breila?" she asked her mount. The horse snorted softly in reply. "Well if you hadn't let me fall asleep I might have a better idea of where we are!" When Breila remained quiet, Elena relented. "Of course, I had no idea where we were when we began this journey so I don't know how staying awake would have helped." Elena reached down and patted her mount's neck. "You're forgiven, Breila."

  "Who's that?" a rough voice called out from the trees to her right. Elena froze, her heart lodged in her throat preventing a reply. "I say, who's been foolish enough to pass our lair in the middle of the night?" When the question was followed by thrashing about in the underbrush, Elena wrapped both hands in Breila's mane and dug her heels into the horses sides as hard as she could.

  "Run!" she screamed. The tired horse sprang into a gallop, quickly putting distance between them and the voice in the bushes. Elena dared a glance over her shoulder and saw three figures stumble onto the road.

  "Get the horses!" one of them shouted. "There's only one!"

  Elena turned her attention back to staying on her mount. As they ran, Elena realized she must have slept longer than she thought for the sky was lightening behind her. She reined in abruptly as Breila crested a peak. Below she could just make out the road which zig-zagged back and forth all the way down the mountain. Elena hesitated for a second before sending Breila off the road and straight down the mountain. The horse nearly sat on her haunches as she slid down the steep slope, creating a landslide of rocks and dirt. They reached the next level of road and again Elena urged Breila across the road and straight down the mountain. Her strategy worked three more times before the exhausted horse could not keep her feet under her any longer. Elena screamed as Breila's feet went out from under her and she and the horse tumbled down the mountain. Elena tried to protect her head and face as she slid, but she did not see Breila's hoof as it grazed the top of her head, knocking her unconscious.

  ***

  Elena awoke to a blindingly bright sun. She squinted as she sat up, partly from the glare, partly from the tremendous throbbing in her skull. She was coated in dust and for the first time in her life she felt the urge to spit. Slowly easing herself to her feet she closed her eyes when the world began to tilt dizzily. After a few moments it seemed to level out and she opened her eyes cautiously. If this is the thanks I get for trying to be a heroine, Elena thought, Joan of Arc can have it.

  "Breila?" she choked out. "Where is that damn--" Elena froze when she saw the huge horse sprawled several feet away from her. With staggering steps she crept over to the horse and knelt down by its head. Breila whinnied softly, but did not move.

  "Oh, Breila, I'm so sorry," Elena whispered. Although she could see no obvious wounds, the horse's awkward position left no doubt in her mind that Breila's back was broken. To Elena's surprise, tears filled her eyes and began coursing down her cheeks. She stroked Breila's face and the horse made a valiant effort to rise. Elena sucked in a breath, hoping that she had been wrong about the horse's injuries, knowing she wasn't as soon as Breila whinnied in pain and fell back against the ground heavily. Tears streaked Elena's dusty face as the horse's breathing finally slowed and then stopped altogether. A sob escaped her and she pressed her face against Breila's neck.

  All her life, horses had been like servants to her. They had served a purpose and she forgot their existence the moment that purpose was accomplished. Unlike her friends, she had never seen her horses as pets, never felt more than a passing interest in what was carrying her. Now she was suddenly overcome with heart-wrenching grief for the horse she had ridden but a few days. What a noble animal, Elena thought. She kept going when I pushed her, when she must have been exhausted. Elena sobbed harder, her breaths coming in great heaves. After several minutes, her sobs diminished and her innately sensible self began to reassert itself.

  Pushing herself up, she told herself firmly, "I'm going to make myself sick if I carry on like this. And that is no thanks for Breila’s sacrifice." She looke
d around, wondering where she was. Crouching down, she could just see the road below through the thick cluster of trees. She turned back to Breila and with one finally caress, left the horse and began making her way towards the road.

  She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was high in the sky and the heat was pressing down on her oppressively, filling her nostrils with the smell of hot pine needles and scorched earth. Elena walked for hours, wishing she would come across a stream or a pond or even a hut where she might ask for water. Though her stomach had long since given up complaining at its emptiness, her throat was parched and her head felt light for lack of water.

  Her head drooping, she kept walking down the winding road, back and forth as it descended the mountain. In some places it was no more defined than a worn place in the grass. In others, it was wide and smooth enough to allow a cart to pass. When she stumbled over a rock, she bent to inspect her foot. Though she wore boots, they were of thin, delicate leather, meant to peep out from under her gown as she rode, not to support her as she hiked through the Welsh mountains. As Elena straightened, she smoothed her kirtle, the same one she had put on that last morning at Middleham. It was no longer the deep rich blue that was so difficult to achieve in a dye. It was now faded and crumpled, full of dust. She pulled up the hem and frowned at what was once a cream colored chemise of fine Italian cotton. It was now a dingy grey and not a little tattered.

  Pushing her tangled hair off her face with a sigh, Elena continued down the road, stumbling more and more often. Oh, if only this heat would abate, she might be able to clear her mind. A rock found its way into her boot but she was too tired to stop and remove it so she continued to limp along. When the sky began to cloud over, Elena was so wrapped in her misery she did not even notice. It wasn't until the first drop hit her face that she glanced up hopefully.

  "Thank God!" she said as loudly as her parched throat would allow.

  The first drop was quickly followed by several more and Elena let them fall on her face with pleasure. This was no fine mist of rain, but huge cold raindrops that cooled her deliciously and did much to restore rational thought to her muddled brain. Picking up her pace, Elena walked as briskly as her sore feet would allow.