After lunch, they mounted up, Elena resuming her seat in front of Gareth on Isrid. Gareth neither asked Elena if she wanted to ride her own horse, nor did she offer. As soon as they were comfortably pressed together, they were off.
By midafternoon, the huge white clouds Gareth had noticed that morning in Aberystwyth had turned an ugly grey and now hung considerably lower in the sky, blocking any glimpse of blue heavens or late summer's sun. The first big drops hit them as they were entering a small grove of trees.
"Oh!" Elena exclaimed as a cold wet drop hit her in the face. "It would have to rain as I'm wearing my new dress. I will look like a shapeless sack of grain once this wool is wet."
Gareth studied the gown. "It will hold a good deal of water and keep you cold through the night as well."
"Wonderful," Elena said, her tone belying her exclamation.
"Perhaps you'd best change into your old gown. That way if we do get wet, your new one will still be dry and unharmed."
"I can't."
"Oh come Elena. You look beautiful no matter what you're wearing." Had he really said that? It was true of course, but...
Elena twisted her body so she could see his face. "Thank you," she said softly, a strange look crossing her face.
Gareth reined Isrid to a stop and dismounted. With both horses' reins in hand, he pulled them off the narrow road into the trees. Once under the protection of the leaves, few raindrops hit them, but the storm appeared to be increasing. Thunder rang out every few minutes and Gareth had the bad feeling that they were going to be drenched no matter what they were wearing. He helped Elena down and began unlacing the satchel on the packhorse. "In which bag did you pack your other gown."
"I didn't," she said meekly.
Gareth grinned at her. So she was finally embarrassed over making everyone wait on her hand and foot, eh? Well, perhaps there was hope for her yet.
"Alright, where did Cynan pack your dress?"
Elena's manicure called her attention and she refused to meet Gareth's eyes.
"Elena? Where is your other dress, love?" The endearment had slipped out, but it had obviously grabbed her attention, for Elena looked up at him, her eyes searching his before she said, "I gave it to Annie."
Gareth was stumped. "Who's Annie? Never mind, where did Annie pack it?"
"Probably in her trunk."
Gareth felt like he had awoken in the middle of a conversation of which he was not a part. "Elena, we have no trunks."
"Annie is the seamstress who made this gown. I gave her that old blue rag because she liked it and I couldn't stand the sight of it. So I gave it to her."
Gareth stared at Elena without comprehension. It finally dawned on him what she meant. "So in other words, you have nothing else to wear?"
"Well of course not. If you will remember, my luggage was separated from me a sennight ago when we were first attacked. I've been wearing that blue gown since. Surely you are not surprised I got rid of it?"
Gareth shook his head as another raindrop penetrated their meager shelter and landed on his head. "What were you planning to do should that gown become wet?" he asked.
Elena shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I didn't think about it raining."
The realization that they were wasting precious daylight in this inane conversation finally penetrated Gareth's baffled brain and he made a rapid decision. Opening the satchel that held his few articles of clothing, Gareth pulled out a thick pair of blue wool hose and his one clean shirt. "Here," he said. "Wear these. At least you'll be able to ride astride and then when we're drenched, you can change into your dry gown."
"But what about you?"
Gareth was suddenly weary of the delay and the reason for it. "Just put these on. I've traveled in wet clothing more times than I can remember. One more time won't kill me."
Elena looked like she was about to say something and then closed her mouth and took the clothes from his outstretched hand. The rain began to come down heavier now and the overhead leaves, drenched themselves, began to drip water down as fast as it fell from the sky. Elena set the shirt and hose on Isrid's saddle and turned so Gareth could unlace her gown. Then, as the wool grew damp, she quickly pulled both it and chemise over her head, rolling them into a compact, if untidy, ball that she stuffed in the protective satchel.
"I've never been good at putting clothes away neatly," she confessed, apparently unconcerned that she was wearing only her boots in front of Gareth. He wondered if she was too concerned about her new dress to worry that she was allowing him to enjoy a full vantage of her body, or if she were simply so comfortable with him seeing her body that she gave it no thought. He incorrectly chose the latter.
As she picked up the shirt, she clearly became aware that Gareth was staring at her nudity. She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes before turning slightly so that her back faced him. Gareth did not complain, enjoying her from this angle as well. When she had the concealing shirt over her head, she pulled her boots off and began to pull on the thick hose. Gareth steadied her as she wobbled on one foot, wondering if he should offer a hand but she soon had the leggings on and was tying the drawstring about her narrow waist.
Judging from her actions and the flustered way she smoothed her hair and tied the cuffs of the rough shirt, Gareth decided that she was, perhaps, a little self-conscious about his being there while she had changed. To make her feel more at ease, he said, "You see? I told you you look beautiful in anything." As he said it, he discovered it was true. The blue hose, which he had yet to wear and stretch since Enid had given them to him back at Eyri Keep, fit her legs and hips snugly, showing curves women's full skirts never allowed. His rough linen shirt was too large on her, but it made her appear all the more fragile and appealing for it. Unable to stop himself, Gareth grasped her shoulders gently and kissed her full on the mouth. Elena responded instantly, her arms snaking up around his neck, her lips parting willingly for his mouth.
With a groan, Gareth broke the kiss, though he still held her pressed tightly against him. "We must move on."
"Can't we wait here until the rain lets up?" Elena asked, her gaze firmly on his mouth.
Gareth considered the idea longer than he should have. It was tempting...
Shaking his head, he said, "There will be light for a few more hours despite the rain and I would have us make up for our late start this morning." Seeing her lower lip pout out, he laughed and said, "Elena, don't make this harder for me than it already is. Had I my way, we would never return to England but would spend the rest of our lives here in this grove."
Elena's pout disappeared. "Truly?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
The voice in his head told Gareth that this was the perfect opportunity for him to declare himself. Judging from the look on her face, the voice said, she might very well welcome your proposal. But Gareth hesitated and in the end, said, "With lips as soft as yours, of course. But we must move on. Come now, climb back up." Elena stared at him a moment before swinging up into Isrid's saddle, sitting astride this time.
"Very well, let's go," she said.
Before climbing up behind her, Gareth pulled out one of their blankets, a thick, scratchy wool affair that smelled faintly musty from having been put away all summer. Once on Isrid, he wrapped the blanket around himself and Elena.
"Phew," she said. "It's too hot to have a cloak on--especially one that smells like a sheep."
"It's not for warmth, it's to keep us dry. Besides, after a while, you may be glad for the warmth. The rain has already cooled the air."
Elena grumbled to herself a while longer and then fell silent. As they made their way east, each remained locked in his thoughts. Gareth's inner voice was chiding him for not speaking his heart when given the perfect opportunity. He argued back that it did not matter when he told her as there was nothing she could do about it until she broke her engagement to Brackley. The inner voice remarked that they could very well change their course and head straight for Eyri Keep where th
ey could enjoy an extended honeymoon until Henry Tudor landed in Britain. And just what would Richard think for never seeing Elena again? he wondered. Come now, the voice replied. She's been gone so long already, he has probably already written her off for dead. Besides, he continued to argue silently, despite what she thinks, ladies-in-waiting are not crucial members of the court. Richard no doubt has three other women filling in for whatever small tasks Elena accomplished. Gareth grew sorely tired of his inner discussion and ended it by telling himself, I've a job to do in Nottingham and that's all there is to it. I'll tell Elena how I feel about her when I'm good and ready and not a minute before. Forcing his mind to consider where they would camp for the evening, he resolutely ignored any other arguments the voice may have offered.
Elena, not troubled by such a persistent inner voice, was content to study the landscape they were crossing. Even in the rain, she thought, Wales is a beautiful place. The dark grey sky, rather than draining the landscape of color, seemed to merely enhance the rich tapestry of silver-green grasses, bright yellow flowers, and lush green trees. The narrow road they traveled had been so worn by years of feet and hooves traipsing over it that it was hard as rock and the rain simply puddled in the low spots rather than turning the path to mud and muck. On either side of the road, brilliant yellow flowers with black centers competed for attention with tall strands of grass that bowed gracefully under the weight of the raindrops. Just ahead, a tall willow tree, its base thicker than a man could stretch his arms, dangled its branches over the road. As they rode beneath it, Elena reached out from under the heavy blanket to pluck a long silvery leaf. Feeling decidedly childish and a bit wicked in her manly garb, she twisted around and tickled Gareth's nose with the end of the leaf.
Gareth welcomed the distraction of Elena's teasing and lowered his eyes from the gloomy horizon to her warm cinnamon-brown eyes, which were alight with mischievous sparkle. He shook his head and grinned. "If someone had told me, two months ago, that the right noble Lady Elena, handmaiden to the King of England, would be sitting astride a horse in hose and a tunic, tickling my nose with a leaf, I would have though they were mad."
"Why? Don't you think ladies-in-waiting have fun?"
"Perhaps. But not with men they consider beneath them. And I would certainly doubt they would do it dressed as you are now."
"You will simply not forget that I apparently snubbed you when first we met, will you?"
Gareth's bark of laughter startled a bird that had taken shelter in the roadside grass. The bird squeaked as it arced up and out into the rain. "I can handle being snubbed. But outright rudeness is a bit uncommon, especially when it comes from one the king has set forth as an example for womanly gentleness."
Looking back to that long-ago night, Elena could scarce remember what she had said to Gareth. Something about him being a farmer or going back to his sheep. Whatever it was, it was no doubt derogatory and Elena wondered, were she in a similar situation now, if she would behave the same. For some reason, she thought that she wouldn't, though she was at a loss to determine why. "I had many other things on my mind that night," she said, feeling awkward.
Gareth stared at the back of her head for a moment and then said, "I accept."
Startled, Elena looked over her shoulder. "You accept what?"
"Your apology."
"Apology? I wasn't making an apology. I was simply explaining that there was a great deal going on that night and if my actions were not what they normally are, then that was the reason."
"Uh huh," Gareth hummed, not the least bit convinced.
"What do you mean, 'Uh huh'?" Elena worked her right leg over Isrid's head until she was sitting sideways in the saddle and could better scowl at Gareth.
"I mean how you treated me that night at Middleham was your usual temperament showing through. I was not a prospective suitor, I didn't dress in the latest mode, and I certainly was not in King Richard's circle of important people. Therefore, you decided that I wasn't worth the time or effort it would take to be polite."
Elena frowned and studied her left thumbnail. Though her initial expression seemed to be anger, his words apparently struck a chord for she looked as if she were ashamed at her behavior.
Gareth watched the play of emotions on her face, thankful that she was not throwing his own rudeness back in his face, amazed that she seemed to be taking to heart his words. Not wishing to hurt her feelings, he said, "It's alright, though."
She raised her head and stared at him. "Why do you say that?"
"Because you're different now."
"Different? How?"
Gareth pushed the hair out of his eyes. Luckily, it was just damp enough that it stayed put and did not fall right back into his face. "Well, you just are. You seem--I don't know--kinder somehow. You seem to notice other people's feelings more and people in return like you."
"They liked me before," she said indignantly.
Gareth quickly backtracked. "What I meant to say was they are better able to see your kind side. As a result, they like you more."
Elena was silent for a moment. Then, "Do you like me more?"
Now! the voice in his head shouted. Tell her now!
No! he shouted back silently. Not 'till I'm ready!
"I like you much more," he said with feeling.
"Perhaps I have changed a little bit. Nobody is perfect, you know."
"Certainly not," he agreed.
"It's very difficult to be close to the king. People are forever trying to use you to gain information or favor with the king. In return, they offer you nothing, so maybe I tended to concentrate on my own needs first. And perhaps," Gareth could tell how difficult all this was for her to admit. "Perhaps I have always been a bit," she cleared her throat, "spoiled. Though that really isn't my fault," she rushed to add. "I was an only child and my parents doted on my many accomplishments and I received nearly everything I wanted, so it's understandable if I may have grown accustomed to that."
"Of course it is," Gareth agreed, trying to contain his smile. He wanted to make this easier for her and was amazed that he was hearing those words come out of her mouth. "And you deserve to have everything you want."
Elena suddenly shook off her maudlin feelings and gave him a cocky smile. "I quite agree."
Amazed at her quicksilver change of emotions, Gareth stared openmouthed at her for a moment. Then he laughed, a loud and hearty laugh. "Nonetheless, you're still not perfect," he said.
"Perhaps not, but you must admit I am pretty good."
"You are very good," he agreed, dropping his gaze to her lips. He grinned when he was rewarded with an honest blush.
The rain had lessened by the time they stopped to set up camp, though a fine mist still blurred the woods with a faerie-like quality, making even ordinary looking trees seem ethereal and enchanted. Gareth led the horses deep into the woods where the drizzle barely reached the ground. He helped Elena down from Isrid and began unsaddling both horses.
"Well, it's not completely dry in here, but we should be warm enough," he said as he scooped away the top layer of wet leaves from the well-mulched ground. Finding the leaves underneath relatively dry, he spread out their bedrolls next to each other. Elena stood watching, thinking that she should probably help in some way. Unfortunately, never having worried herself with such details, she knew not the first thing to do. Hesitant about asking Gareth for direction, she remained by the horses, petting Isrid's velvety nose. When Gareth had arranged the small camp to his liking, he stood and said, "I doubt I'll find any, but I think I'll look around a bit for some dry wood. A campfire would definitely take the chill off our evening."
"I'll go with you," Elena volunteered.
Gareth looked at her in surprise but wisely made not one joking remark. Instead he said, "Thank you," and moved to tie the horses to a nearby tree.
Elena scrambled through the underbrush with Gareth, trying to move as quietly as he did, but it was proved to be very difficult when branches were foreve
r catching in her hair and snagging at her hose. Although, she reflected as Gareth helped her climb over a moss-encrusted log, these clothes make traveling, and firewood hunting, much easier than they would be in a gown, no matter how pretty or new that gown was. Elena felt so unrestrained in her borrowed garb. Her hands were free from holding hems off the ground, her legs were able to take long bounding strides unencumbered by yards of fabric, and, though these were no doubt Gareth's good clothes, she did not have to constantly worry about grinding dirt into the knees or tearing the sleeve on a tree branch. Yes, Elena decided, this mode of dress certainly had its advantages.
Elena followed Gareth's lead in looking for dry wood, burrowing under bushes and pulling apart rotten logs. Though she could not keep her lip from curling in disgust, she managed to keep quiet as Gareth loaded her arms with crumbling logs off of which ants and spiders scurried. When they finally made their way back to camp, the light was nearly gone from the overcast sky. Elena quickly dumped her armload of sticks and began vigorously brushing the dirt and twigs off her shirt. She could not suppress an, "Ugh," when her hand came away from her shirt covered with a slimy moss. With a distinctly queasy feeling in her stomach, she quickly knelt and wiped her hand in the damp grass that carpeted the forest floor. Still kneeling, she glanced up to see if Gareth had noticed her discomfiture. Though he had what looked like a suppressed grin on his face, his focus was fixed intently on building a fire from the smoldering logs. Relieved, Elena stood and made her way to the bedrolls. They offered little cushioning from the ground but they were dry and still warm from the body heat of the horses on which they'd been carried. She lay back on the ground and stretched, glad to send blood to the muscles that were weary of riding all day. Especially her inner thighs, she thought, flexing the muscles in her legs. She was not accustomed to riding astride and it seemed to require the use of a whole separate set of muscles.
A Dishonorable Knight Page 28