Elena awoke to bright sunlight pouring in the small window. Disoriented she pushed herself up to her elbows and looked around. She had only just been thinking that any moment Gareth would be entering her room and now it was daylight. Looking at the candle, she saw only a puddle of wax melted onto the small table. Oh dear. Not even in Richard's well-furnished castles were candles a thing to be wasted. But the candle occupied her mind for just a moment before the larger reality sank in. Gareth had not joined her! Elena sat fully up and pounded the bed with her fist. What in the world was he thinking? Had she not smiled meaningfully at him last night as she left the dining table, bidding everyone good night? Had she not left her door cracked invitingly so that the candlelight would guide him to her? Had she said aught to lead him to believe that she had not found their night of passion enjoyable? Certainly not!
"You dolt!" she cursed as she threw back the covers and rapidly dressed. She would certainly give him a piece of her mind, she thought as she ran a borrowed comb through her thick hair. Elena paused in mid-stroke. How, exactly, would she go about bringing up the subject? "Where were you last night, Gareth? I waited for you for hours." No. "Why didn't we continue our lessons last night? Aren't I an apt pupil?" Absolutely not. Well, she decided, something will come to me. She’d never before been at a loss for words. Marching down the narrow hall, she came into the main living area where Gareth, his friends, Morgan, and Samuel were talking. The discussion stopped the instant Elena entered the room and she had the distinct impression that she was the topic.
"Good morning," the men chimed, Bryant quickly standing to give her his chair.
"Good morning," she responded, glancing at each man's guilty face before settling her gaze on Gareth. Bryant handed her a bowl of freshly picked berries and a wedge of cheese. Elena slowly ate as she watched the men try to cover their discomfiture by talking about the weather. What exactly had they been talking about? she wondered. She was given no opportunity to decipher that puzzle as Gareth, Morgan, and Samuel stood and moved to leave.
"Where are you going," Elena asked Gareth.
"I must spend today with my father," he said once the two men had left. "Bryant and Cynan will take you to the book shop this morning and then wherever you would like to go. I understand the beach is beautiful at this time of year. Why don't you three have a picnic?"
"But--" Elena began, confusion, disappointment and, yes, hurt feelings swirling within her.
"You'll be well taken care of, Lady. Enjoy!" Turning, Gareth quickly followed his father and Samuel out.
"Well if that isn't ill-mannered," she said.
"Yes, but that's Gareth for you," Cynan said, trying to effect a disappointed face. "Bryant and I have tried and tried to teach him how to behave, but you see, he's just a heathen mountain boy at heart. Bryant and I, however," he continued with a bow, "are experts at courtly manners and gentle entertainments."
"Are you now?" Elena said, trying to infuse her tone with a lightheartedness she did not feel.
"Oh, Cynan, shut up," Bryant said, clearly disgusted.
"What? Why? Was I or was I not acting in a manner befitting a duke, Lady Elena?"
Elena laughed in genuine amusement. "Oh, indeed."
Cynan turned to Bryant. "You see?"
"You need not humor him, my lady," Bryant said. "It only makes him worse."
"You mean it makes me better."
Bryant shook his head and looked at Elena as if to say, "I told you so."
Sobering slightly, Cynan stole a handful of Elena's berries and said, "Gareth said you were interested in the bookseller across town. Shall we go there first?"
Elena nodded and finished her bit of cheese as she stood. "I'd also like to stop by my seamstress's shop and see how she's coming on my dress."
"Wonderful! Bryant's never been inducted into the joys of waiting for a woman as she talks dresses with another woman."
Elena couldn't contain her laughter at the worried look on Bryant's face.
Outside it was nearly as beautiful as the day before, but to Elena, something was missing. She refused to allow herself to think that she missed Gareth's presence, but somewhere in her heart, she knew that's what the problem was.
The walk to the bookseller's shop seemed farther than it had the day before, but once they arrived, Elena forgot the walk, her escorts, and Gareth's absence in her bed. The tiny, cluttered shop was stacked from floor to ceiling, wall to wall with books. Elena was amazed at the quantity, especially considering they were in the far reaches of Wales.
"I've more books than most of the shops in London," a stooped elderly man said from a wooden chair in the corner. He laid down the book he was reading and pushed himself to his feet, his hair a wild tangle of thin white curls.
"Yes, you do." Elena agreed. "How did you come by them all, especially here."
"Think the Welsh are nothing but illiterate shepherds, eh?" Elena was slightly taken aback and embarrassed, but the old man laughed.
"For the most part, we are!" He paused in his laughter to cough and wipe his mouth with a handkerchief. "But having ships in and out of the harbor allows me to gather books from all over the world. Look here," he said, gesturing for Elena to follow him as he wove through stacks of books to the back corner. "This one is from the land of sand and heathens. Look at those letters! I'll never in a thousand years figure out what they say, but they are fascinating to look at, aren't they? Old Magnus in the square has a son who sails the seas. Every few years he returns home loaded with strange gifts from far off lands. He brought this to me. Said for all their godlessness, the heathens are very educated and write volumes."
Elena took the book from the old man and gingerly leafed through the pages. She had heard stories of the exotic east, passed around from the time of the Crusades. Looking at the text, she thought, Even the script is exotic. Each page was intricately illuminated with vivid colors and gold leaf. Strange birds and animals shared the border space with dark-skinned men wrapped in voluminous robes, riding powerful steeds and bearing curved swords.
"Where are their ladies?" she asked the old man.
"Eh? Ladies? They don't allow them to be seen."
"Don't allow them to be seen? What do you mean?"
"Just that. Mostly the ladies stay indoor where only their male folk can see them. If they ever do go out, they are covered from head to toe in a black cloak, sometimes not even their eyes showing." The old man opened his eyes wide for emphasis and Elena noticed they were clear with vitality--there was no hazy blurring of age in them.
Her mind going back to the heathen women, she was amazed. How could you possibly flirt without your eyes? Surely such a rule was for common women alone. "What about the royal women?"
The old bookseller scrunched up his wrinkled face in concentration. "Seems to me Magnus's son said the women who are important are kept even more hidden away. They live in the palace and no men but the--now what did he call them?" He turned and rifled through some papers strewn across the table. "Ah, I knew I'd written down. My memory isn't what it used to be, so I make notes to myself. The sultan, that's what their kings are called. These sultans are the only men who are allowed to see these women."
Fascinated, Elena continued turning the pages of the book, wishing she could read the intricate script. None of the books she had ever read had told her about such exotic lands. She had read accounts of Italy and even Greece and they had proven fascinating enough, but the people in them had behaved similarly enough to those in England that they had not seemed so alien.
"What else did he tell you?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
Obviously delighted that he had an avid listener, he pushed a stack of books off of a low bench and wiped the dust off with his sleeve. Gesturing for Elena to sit, he turned to Cynan and Bryant who were standing by the door, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "You need not wait for this young lady, she and I will be occupied for a good while. You may leave and we will send for you when she is ready."
Cynan bowed briefly and told Elena, "I would like to take something back to Enid. If you are comfortable, I will leave you to this good man and return in a while."
"Of course," Elena said graciously.
Cynan looked to Bryant expectantly. "Do you care to join me?"
Bryant shook his head and scowled disapprovingly. "I will wait with Lady Elena."
"There's no need, Bryant," Elena said.
"I will stay," he said implacably.
Cynan looked to Elena and shrugged his shoulders. "Enjoy your books, then."
The bookseller sat in his worn chair with a creak of old bones and old wood. "By the way, I have not introduced myself. I am Llywelyn, named for that great Welsh prince, but much to my father's disappointment bore absolutely none of the warrior's characteristics of that strong man save his name. I gather you are called Lady Elena. Despite your Welsh name, I detect an English accent. Am I correct?"
Elena gave Llywelyn an indulging smile and nodded. "I am rarely wrong on such things," he said as he gestured with his chin toward Bryant. "And who might your rude friend here be?"
Elena turned around and realized Bryant was still standing stiffly by the door, his hands clasped in front of him as he maintained his sentry-like pose. "Oh, that is Bryant."
"Why don't you come sit, boy. Your legs will go numb with you standing like that. Besides, you might learn something."
Bryant shook his head.
Elena, anxious to hear more of the far-off land of heathens, impatiently gestured to the bench on which she was seated. "Bryant, do sit. Now please."
Hesitating only a moment, Bryant hurried across the small room and seated himself next to Elena, glancing shyly at her from the corner of his eye. More interested in Llywelyn's stories than Bryant's silly behavior, Elena turned back to the bookseller and promptly forgot Bryant's presence.
For the next four hours, Elena forgot not only Bryant's presence, but the hardness of her bench, the cramped tininess of the shop, and even the fact that Llywelyn was a mere merchant and under normal circumstances would not be considered appropriate company for a lady-in-waiting of the court. Elena lost all track of time as she listened to Llywelyn's stories. From time to time, the small man would push himself out of his chair and fetch a book off of this shelf or that. He piled dusty manuscript after dusty manuscript on Elena's lap and asked her what she thought of a particular passage or a bit of illumination.
Elena had considered herself more educated than the other ladies at court simply because of the fact that she could and did read. But her studies had never prepared her for immersion into the world of academia. She found herself at times overwhelmed by Llywelyn's questions and at other times, surprisingly comfortable thumbing through a thick volume while she told him what she thought.
They paused at midday and Elena sent Bryant out to purchase some fresh bread while Llywelyn heated a pot of mutton stew over his hearth. After lunch, they pulled still more books off the shelf, looking for accounts of the furthest reaches of globe. Cynan stopped in to see if she was ready to leave but Elena shooed him off. He turned to Bryant who replied that if Lady Elena was staying, so would he. Cynan shook his head in amazement and told them he would see them back at Samuel's that evening.
So intrigued with her rediscovered passion for books, Elena scarcely noticed when Bryant began to doze, his head nodding forward to rest on his chest. She did not hear his muffled snore as he slipped deeper into sleep. She did finally notice him the very moment he listed to the right and tumbled off the bench.
Setting her book down, Elena rushed to his side. "Bryant! Are you alright? What happened?"
Rubbing his elbow and blushing hotly with embarrassment, Bryant pushed himself to his feet. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "I just dozed off."
"Dozed off?" She looked out the thick window at the front of the shop. "Good heavens, what time is it?"
Old Llywelyn laughed, coughed, and laughed some more. "You don't know how many times I've asked that very question. You know you are a true book lover when you ask it, though."
"I had no idea we had spent so much time here. I--I can't buy any of your books." Elena cleared her throat. Never in her life had she been without money or some means to purchase something. With not a little discomfort, she apologized, "I'm very sorry."
"Nonsense, dear girl, nonsense. I haven't enjoyed myself in years and as you can see, I don't get many customers. Here," he said, pulling the Arabic book from the bottom of the stack. "I wish you to have this. To remember me by."
Elena's eyes widened. Though accustomed to receiving gifts from men, rarely had she been given such an expensive and extraordinary gift. Never had she been given a gift from a man, other than her father, who had not hoped to gain her favor or even her hand. To be offered a gift such as this from an old man who would never see her again overwhelmed her.
"I couldn't possibly." Were these words coming from her mouth? Of course she could accept it! "That book is much too precious and no doubt worth a great deal of money. You must keep it or sell it."
Llywelyn smiled and shook his head, thin white hair flopping about his head. "A book is worth nothing if it is not read and treasured. You may not be able to read the words, but you can read the illustrations and you will certainly treasure it."
"I don't know what to say." Wouldn't Gareth tease her about that if he were here? Remembering Gareth, she knew just what he would expect her to say, and while she still wasn't completely used to saying it, she took the book in one hand, Llywelyn's spotted hand in her other and said as sincerely as she could, "Thank you very much. I will indeed treasure it always." Ha, she thought, Gareth could not complain about that! Thinking about Gareth, she did not even realize it had happened until she was suddenly wrapped in Llywelyn's warm hug. Unsure of what to do, she patted his back. When he released her, she quickly stepped back, but not before noticing his eyes were damp, though he was smiling brightly.
Once outside, Elena clasped the book tightly to her breast. "I want to stop by the seamstress shop and see how my new dress is coming along."
"What new dress?"
"Gareth bought me fabric for a new dress and chemise. We took it to a seamstress yesterday morning and she said she would have it done by the time we returned to England."
"Gareth bought you fabric?" Elena had never heard Bryant speak so sharply or bitterly, and she looked at him quickly to determine what had upset him. All she saw was a moody frown.
"Is there something wrong with that?"
"No, of course not," he said abruptly. Seemingly forcing himself out of his foul mood, he smiled tautly and said, "Do you remember where the shop is?"
Elena blinked. "I have no idea. Don't you know where they are? There are three of them on the same street. Once we reach the street, I'll remember which one it is."
"This is my first time in Aberstwyth. Let me ask the bookseller." Bryant ran back to the small shop. While she waited for him, Elena rubbed her neck, which was stiff from crouching over books all day. Looking up at the late afternoon sky, she felt a sense of peace come over her and she wished unselfconsciously that Gareth were here with her. There was a silence over the town that only occurs on such perfect late summer evenings. The sky was a rich lapis blue, the low-hung clouds impossibly white. Inhaling deeply, she smelled the wetness of the nearby sea as a cooling breeze kissed her face. Truly, Gareth should be here, she thought. He is the one who helped me appreciate such simple pleasures.
Alone with her thoughts since she first awoke, Elena wondered again why Gareth had not come to her room last night. Surely after the previous night and all of yesterday spent together, he did not think she loathed his company. Elena's feminine pride rebelled at the thought that he might have simply not wanted to come to her. A delicious tingle ran down her spine as she remembered their night spent together. No, he had been well pleased. He must have been unable to join her without arousing suspicion. There could be no other answer. Or, rather, she would allow no other ans
wer.
Within minutes, Bryant had returned to her and they quickly found their way through the maze of narrow alleys to the correct street.
"Let me think," Elena said as she gazed at the identical shops that lined the street. "I know it was on this side. There was a baker's shop nearby...Ah, there it is."
"Are you sure?" Bryant asked as they approached it. "There isn't a sign and the inside looks empty."
"That's how I know this is the right place." Elena pushed opened the door and called out for Annie. The five-year-old boy came tumbling down the staircase to answer their call.
"Mama says you is to come dupstairs," he said importantly.
They followed the young messenger to the spotless room upstairs. Nothing had changed except that the mound of cloth burying the large table was now cranberry-colored instead of blue, as it had been the day before. Annie was sitting at the table, crouched over a seam.
"If you'll just give me a moment, ma'am, I'll have it ready for you to try on."
"Ready to try on? How have you managed to get so much done?" Elena asked, amazed at the woman's speed.
Breaking the thread with her teeth, Annie stood and shook out the dress. "You said you needed it ready by day after tomorrow. I worked on it all yesterday and today. I still have to put the collar on and hem it, but otherwise 'tis done."
Elena took the gown from Annie, her eyes glowing with pleasure. "It is beautiful." Holding it up to herself, Elena flared the skirt out. "Where can I try it on?"
A Dishonorable Knight Page 23