Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “If my mother and family are to think we are married, then it is more than proper.”

  “What would de Lohr say?”

  “He would congratulate me for my ingenuity. Now, are you going to argue with me all night?”

  Truth was, she wanted to. She should have. But his body radiated more heat than a roaring fire and already she could feel it seeping through the coverlet, warming her chilly flesh. She should demand he remove himself immediately, but the warmer she became, the more her protests died on her lips.

  “Is that what I can expect every night while we stay here?”

  “That would be a fair assessment.”

  She sighed sharply, hating herself for giving in to the warmth of his body but enjoying it just the same. But it was more than that; she was enjoying the sheer comfort of his closeness.

  “Then let me make something perfectly clear, Rhys du Bois,” she sounded very much as if she was threatening him. “If you so much as touch me or handle me in a way that I deem even remotely suggestive or improper, I swear to you that you will walk from this place missing an eye, and I’ll tell de Lohr every horrible detail and hope he punishes you greatly for it. Is that clear?”

  Rhys shifted so her stiff elbow wasn’t jabbing him in the gut and somehow in the process pulled her tighter. “Perfectly, my lady.”

  “Good.” Satisfied he wouldn’t try something improper, she allowed herself to relax within his enormous embrace. “Now, I am a light sleeper, so do not move around too much. It will keep me awake all night.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “And do not snore.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “Rhys?”

  “My lady?”

  “Good night.”

  He was staring into the back of her golden red head, smelling the soft scent of lilac and struggling to ignore it. “Good night, Lady Elizabeau.”

  It was the best night’s sleep either one of them had ever had.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was an oddly sunny morning for November, Elizabeau thought as she strolled through the courtyard of Whitebrook. The sun had been up for some time, evidenced by its position in the sky, and the landscape was lush from the recent heavy rains. All in all, it was a beautiful day and a beautiful land, much different from the filth of London that she had known most of her life.

  She had awoken alone in the small bed that she and Rhys had occupied. A fire burned brightly in the hearth and a platter of cold bread and cheese sat on the table near the bed. Someone had put it there for her and she suspected it was Rhys, but he was nowhere to be found so she had eaten all of the food and dressed in the pale green broadcloth that was magnificent with her coloring. The leather girdle had cinched up the surcoat, emphasizing her long torso and slender waist, and she had used a few of the pins to secure her considerable mane at the nape of her neck. Some of the red lip ointment from the tiny alabaster pot went onto her full lips and she dared to use some of the perfumed oil that Rhys had bought her. One smelled like lilac, the other smelled of tuberose. She chose the lilac.

  During the entire time when she had eaten and dressed, no one had come to her door. She had been quite alone. Dressed and fed, she decided to go and find Rhys. She was coming to feel a little lost without him around, his massive presence something she had grown accustomed to over the past several days. She would not admit she had become attached to him, too, as a protector and companion. Anything more than that she would once again refuse to entertain. But the fact that he had insisted on sleeping next to her last night was making that increasingly difficult.

  So she found herself in the weak November sunshine, gazing up into the clear sky and inspecting her surroundings. She could hear dogs barking and chickens clucking somewhere. Just as she rounded the northwest corner of the manor, young Dylan nearly ran her down.

  The lad was chagrinned as she stumbled back, out of his way. His big, dark eyes were wide at her.

  “F—forgive me, my lady,” he squeaked; his voice was verging on manhood with that funny squawk to it that young men had when going through the change into maturity. “I did not mean to startle you.”

  She smiled at the boy. “You did not overly,” she said. “But you must be in a great hurry this morning.”

  He nodded, his nearly-black hair shaggy. “Carys is feeding the fowl, but the geese have come early this year and they are gobbling up everything.” He indicated the barn back to the south side of the manor. “I was going to the stores to get more or else the geese might pick the flesh from her bones.”

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Elizabeau looked over her shoulder at the barn. “I see,” she said. “Best of luck to you, then.”

  “Thank you,” he bobbed his head and started to dash off again, but suddenly stumbled to a halt. “Would… would you like to come? Carys was asking for you this morn but mother said that you were still sleeping.”

  Elizabeau shrugged, smiled, and followed him. “I was,” she said as they crossed back across the ward. She eyed the lad a moment. “You would not happen to know where Rhys has gone, would you?”

  He nodded. “He took Maddoc to visit the place where Gwyneth is buried.”

  “Gwyneth?”

  “Maddoc’s mother.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeau looked more closely at the youth as they neared the barn. “And where is that?”

  “St. Briavels,” he said, jabbing a finger in an easterly direction. “Not far. That is where Rhys’ castle is, you know.”

  As his wife, Elizabeau realized she probably should have known that so she pretended that she did. “I’ve not seen it yet,” she thought she played well to his statement. “I suppose you have, many times.”

  They entered the cool, dim barn. Pigeons roosted in the rafters, cooing gently. “A few,” Dylan shrugged. “Gwyneth did not like us there.”

  “Why not?”

  Dylan shrugged. “She never seemed to like Carys or me. We did not go there often.”

  They had reached the massive sacks of grain, neatly stacked against the old barn wall. Dust and bits of straw floated through the air, passing through streams of sunlight that filtered in through the wide, uneven wall slats. Elizabeau watched the boy struggle with a large sack, still mulling over his last statement. Although she knew it was none of her affair, she could not help but be curious.

  “Perhaps she simply did not like the company,” she said, probing him even though she tried to tell herself that she was doing no such thing. “Some people are like that, you know. They prefer to be alone.”

  Dylan tried to lift the sack but gave up and started dragging it. “She just did not like us,” he said flatly, grunting as he lugged the grain. “Her father was a FitzPeter, constable for the earl of Monmouth and constable of St. Briavels. Her mother was the earl’s daughter. Gwyneth was born in the castle and when she married Rhys, it was part of her dowry.” He suddenly stopped lugging and looked up at her. “But you already know that, right? I talk too much.”

  Elizabeau shook her head. “Your brother and I were only… married recently and we’ve not had the time to learn everything about one another. I did not know that his first wife was a granddaughter of Monmouth.”

  Dylan went back to yanking on the sack, having no idea he was blathering information he probably should have kept to himself. “She was rich but she was mean,” he gave one big pull and almost tripped over his feet. “Mother didn’t like her but Father said she was wealthy and that Rhys needed to marry her, so he did. Everybody knows that Rhys’ father is the Duke of Navarre. Gwyneth and her father only wanted ties to the duke, but they didn’t get that at all. When they found out that the duke didn’t provide an inheritance for Rhys, they were furious. They hated him and they hated us. That’s why we weren’t allowed in the castle.”

  Elizabeau stared at him in shock as the hint of a tragic story began to unfold. “But what about the baby?”

  “Maddoc?” Dylan was beginning to sweat with exertion as he pulled the sack
out of the barn. Elizabeau followed. “They weren’t even married a year before Maddoc came. I heard Mother tell Father that Gwyneth wished the baby would die when she was giving birth to him. She cursed Rhys and she cursed Maddoc. And then she died instead. Mother said it was God’s punishment because she was so wicked.”

  Elizabeau’s shock deepened. So did her sense of pity for the massive, silent man with the unhappy past. “But still he goes to visit her grave?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Mother says that Rhys is a saint. She doesn’t know why he goes, either, but I heard Rhys tell her once that the woman was still Maddoc’s mother no matter what. I guess he doesn’t want Maddoc to grow up hating her even though she hated him.”

  Elizabeau’s sorrow overwhelmed her sense of shock; never would she have imagined such a tale. But it explained a good deal of why Rhys had been so cold when they had initially met. She had thought once that the man had a wall around him; now she could see that she had been correct. He had every reason to have a wall of protection around him. But she also realized that the past few days had seen that wall topple slightly. He had warmed to her to the point where they could banter somewhat. She began to feel horrible for the way she had treated him in the beginning, her maliciousness and aggressive behavior. It seemed that Rhys had been exposed to his share of women who behaved that way towards him.

  Dylan was still dragging the sack across the courtyard. Lost to her own thoughts, it suddenly occurred to Elizabeau that she should probably help the boy. Bending down, she took the end of the sack and lifted. It was heavy, but manageable.

  Dylan looked surprised that she would take the initiative to help but she encouraged him onward. “Keep walking,” she commanded gently. “If we don’t hurry, your sister’s fate will be sealed in a mass of goose feathers and beaks.”

  Dylan grinned, walking backwards while carrying the sack. “Aw, she can fight like a boy. She’ll not go down without a struggle.”

  “And how would you know this?”

  “Because she beats on me all of the time.”

  “Clearly, you must deserve it.”

  Dylan looked at her with surprise but she was laughing at him. His cheeks flushed violently and he grinned as they turned the corner of the manse and began heading towards the rear kitchen yard. They could hear chickens cackling and geese squawking as they drew close. True to Dylan’s word, Carys was surrounded by demanding fowl. Elizabeau and Dylan set the sack down and Dylan ripped open the top.

  “Here!” he began throwing out grain. “Come and get it!”

  The throng of birds shifted their attention from Carys to Dylan in an instant and, suddenly, Elizabeau found herself surrounded by pushy geese. Truth was, she’d never been exposed to them before. Living a relatively sheltered life in London, her mother hadn’t kept farm animals at their townhome. When the birds began nipping at her surcoat, she panicked and climbed up on top of the stone wall.

  Dylan and Carys alternately fed the birds and tried to coax her down, but no amount of pleading could coerce her to climb back into the writhing mass of ravenous fowl. Even when they led the throng away from the wall, Elizabeau remained on top of it as if terrified the birds would suddenly rush back at her again. In fact, the entire yard was populated with animals and she was very intimidated by them. Just when she summoned the courage to climb from the wall, a white billy goat boldly hustled up to her and began nipping at her hands. It was enough to send her scurrying back up the wall.

  And there she stayed until Rhys returned. A very panicked Dylan had been waiting for his brother in the courtyard and, upon spilling his tale, took Maddoc from his brother while Rhys went around the back of the manse. But Rhys had to make sure his grin was gone by the time he reached the yard or he was sure there would be hell to pay.

  Elizabeau was sitting on top of the five-foot stone wall that sectioned off the kitchen yard from the north side of the manse. She was perched with her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them. She seemed to be watching the activity in the yard intently, giving him time to gaze at her a moment. Rhys paused, watching her fine features in the morning light; he realized he was glad to see her. There was something about the sight of her that lightened his heart. Furthermore, he was very amused by her behavior. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

  “What, may I ask,” he moved towards her with his hands on his hips, “are you doing up there?”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice, the deep green eyes finding him as he stalked her. “I… I was….”

  He came to rest next to the wall. “You were… what?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she struggled for an explanation that didn’t sound too humiliating. “I… I was just watching the geese. And the goats. And that sheep over there with the very big horns.”

  “And?”

  He had the most annoying twinkle in his eye, giving Elizabeau a hint that he might know exactly why she was seated on the wall. She let out a blustery grunt.

  “Oh, very well,” she snapped without force. “They were trying to eat me, so I climbed up here.”

  Rhys was struggling very hard not to smile. “They do not eat meat, not even your tender white flesh. Now come down from there.”

  She shook her head. “The moment I do, they will run over here and bite me.”

  He lifted a black eyebrow. “My lady, I swear that they will not,” he held out a hand to her. “They’re just birds and a few other beasts. They do not care about you in the least.”

  “And I am telling you, they have tried before. I’ll be missing fingers if I come off of this wall.”

  “I can promise you that you will not. Come down from there before you ruin your new coat.”

  She shook her head, hard. It was clear she would not leave the safety of the wall without assistance. With a sigh, he reached out and scooped her off of the mossy stones. He expected her to put her arm around his shoulders for support; what he did not expect was for her to throw both arms around his neck and hold him tightly. It was surprising, and enticing, leaving him struggling to orient himself. He suddenly wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “You cannot possibly be that frightened of farm animals.”

  Her face was against his neck, her delectable hair licking at him. “I… I do not like them,” she mumbled against his skin. “They tried to eat me.”

  God, she felt sweet against his flesh. “How can such a bold, brave woman such as you be frightened of animals?” he mused.

  “Simple.” She lifted her head out of the safety of his neck to see that he had taken her back around the north side of the manse. “I have never been around them. The most my mother had was a little dog.”

  He could have very well put her down at this point, but he was an idiot to realize that he did not want to. He liked the feel of her in his arms and allowed himself a brief moment for the first time in ten days to actually enjoy it. But he knew in the same instant that it was beyond foolish; it was dangerous. When they were well out of the range of the carnivorous geese, he gently set her to her feet.

  Elizabeau straightened her surcoat and brushed at the stray locks of hair around her face. “Thank you,” she looked up at him, still brushing off the dirt. “I am sure I would have rotted there had you not saved me.”

  His grin was back. “Somehow I doubt that,” his gaze moved over her in a way that suggested he appreciated what he saw. “Did you sleep well last night? You were sleeping quite soundly when I left.”

  She nodded. “I did, thank you,” she eyed him a moment. “I came out here to look for you but Dylan said that you took your son to visit his mother’s grave.”

  His smile faded. “I did.” It was apparent that he did not wish to discuss the matter. “I plan to head to town and purchase some garments for you to sleep in. What would be your preference?”

  She would not push the matter of Gwyneth’s grave; it wasn’t any of her affair, anyway, nosy woman that she was. “If you simply pu
rchase the material, I can sew it,” she said helpfully.

  “There is a fine dressmaker in St. Briavels. She usually has several pre-made garments available for purchase. In fact, that is where my mother has done some of her shopping in the past.”

  “Are you sure I cannot come?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “But I would like to pick out my own material. And I would like to see your castle.”

  Any warmth remaining in his face was gone. He shook his head, averting his gaze after a moment to kick at the dirt at his feet before moving around her, heading towards the manse.

  “Out of the question. Come back inside now.”

  This time, she wasn’t going to acquiesce and she wasn’t going to apologize. True, it wasn’t any of her business, but she realized that she wanted to make it her business. It was stupid, foolish, and everything illogical that she could imagine. But that didn’t stop her.

  Crossing her arms stubbornly, she watched him until he was almost to the front door. When he realized that she wasn’t following him meekly, he stopped and looked at her.

  “Come along, my lady.”

  Her gaze lingered on him a moment before she turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction.

  “No.”

  She hadn’t taken three steps when she heard his very rapid, and very heavy, footfalls. An enormous hand reached out to grab her, halting her forward momentum. When she glared up at him, he was looking quite coldly back at her.

  “This is not a matter for debate,” he said evenly. “Come back inside with me now.”

  She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “I am not going anywhere with you. Leave me alone.”

  He watched her walk off towards the road that led to the town of Llandogo, knowing she was angry with him because he would not let her ride into town with him. He thought he had explained his reasons quite adequately. But she was spoiled and demanding, and more than likely, used to having her way in matters. He had known that since the start. Turning his back on her, he walked halfway back to the manse until he thought better of his actions and he came to a halt, turning once again to see that she had perched herself on a stump near the road. He watched her a moment, the way the sunlight played off of her golden red hair, and he felt himself folding. He realized that he did not want her to be angry with him. Like an idiot, he began to retrace his steps.