Rhett lowered his bulk down onto the edge of a wall that was half-demolished; Renard had intended to extend it last spring and had even knocked down several stones, but that was as far as it went. Now it was about hip-high and perfect for sitting.
“Did you go away to foster, then?”
“At Framlingham Castle in Norfolk.”
“I see,” the old man replied. “I have visited Framlingham on a few occasions. A long time ago, mind you, but….”
She suddenly bolted to her feet, moving around him and heading for the front of the manse.
“If you will excuse me, my lord.”
Rhett hardly had time to answer as she practically ran from him. He pursed his lips with regret, knowing she was affected by the same thing that was affecting Rhys. It was a truly despondent situation for the both of them. But he let her go without a further word, hoping to speak with her at some later time. She was a young woman with a massive burden to bear; the situation with Rhys was only making it more difficult.
Elizabeau didn’t know why she was in tears by the time she rounded the northwest corner of the manse and headed into the courtyard. The old man hadn’t said anything offensive or sad. But she did not feel like talking and it was as if every word out of her mouth somehow caused her more pain. She knew Rhys was seated over by the shed that housed some of the farming implements they used around the estate; she had seen him earlier, sitting there in the sun and working intently on some piece of armor. Now as she moved into the courtyard, she didn’t even bother to look over and see if he was still there. She didn’t want to know.
Elizabeau wasn’t sure where she was going; only that she had to walk and clear her head. She was somewhere over near the barn where a path led off into the vegetable fields. She thought it might be a good idea to walk in the fields where no one would bother her with idle chatter. She no sooner put her foot on the path than Carys was suddenly beside her.
“A beautiful day, is it not?” the young girl greeted, squinting up into the sky. “Where are you going?”
Elizabeau didn’t want the girl to see the tears in her eyes and she very quickly, and not so discreetly, wiped them away. “I… I was simply walking. It is too beautiful a day to sit about.”
Carys looped her arm through Elizabeau’s companionably. “I agree,” she said happily. “I was going to gather some vegetables for Mother, but I think I will walk with you instead.”
“Nay, you mustn’t,” Elizabeau saw the look of disappointment on the girl’s face and hastened to clarify her statement. “What I mean is that you must not anger your mother. Surely she wants her vegetables now rather than later.”
Carys made a face to imply that she did not care what her mother wanted. “She shall have them soon enough. Shall I show you where a family of rabbits burrow? They just had babies.”
Elizabeau didn’t want to see any rabbits. She just wanted to be alone. Couldn’t anyone in this family leave her alone?
“Carys,” she came to a halt and faced her, struggling to be pleasant. “Although I would greatly love your company at any other time, would… would you please allow me to walk on my own for a while? I… I am not feeling well and would very much appreciate it if you could leave me to my own thoughts for now.”
Carys wasn’t offended but she was puzzled. “Where are you going to go?”
Elizabeau forced a smile and patted the girl on the cheek. “Just… around. I will not go far, I promise.”
She was already walking away, leaving Carys standing there, puzzled. “Very well,” the girl watched her walk away, a bit morosely. “But hurry back. Mother will not be happy if you are late for the meal!”
Elizabeau waved to her to let her know she heard her. She was walking quickly, blindly, wanting away from Carys and Rhett and Rhys. She wore the light blue Perse surcoat this day, hating the garment, knowing with every step that it reminded her of Rhys. Everything around her reminded her of Rhys.
Every step she took began to build anxiety in her chest. She could feel all of the anguish and disappointment surfacing and she felt the extreme urge to run, run far away and as fast as she could until she could be free of this agony that was consuming her. Fifteen days ago, men had come to her mother’s house in London to inform her that her brother Arthur had been assassinated and she was now heiress. She’d had no choice; they’d simply whisked her away to Hyde House to await escort to her new husband and, presumably, a new life as ruler of England. But her escort, a massive knight with brilliant blue eyes, had somehow become more than just an escort. They had been thrown together in a critical situation and when the dust had settled somewhat, she was in love with him and he with her. She had never wanted the blessing of a throne in the first place. Those men, de Burgh and de Lohr, had made her take it. They were still making her take it. And their ambition had conveniently caged Rhys up and turned his sweet heart into something professional and unfeeling.
I will not marry you.
She could still hear those words in her head. Hearing them over and over again made the tears come to her eyes. Hours before, he had told her he loved her. But de Lohr came and ruined all of that. She hated de Lohr and she hated Rhys for being too weak to stand behind his convictions.
She didn’t want any of it now. She would not let Rhys force her into a marriage with a stranger. She wanted to return to London and resume her quiet life and let the world go on around her. She wanted to bury her head in the ground and ignore everything. She didn’t want to feel any longer.
Elizabeau’s tears blinded her to the path she had taken. She had moved beyond the vegetable garden and was plowing through some trees. It was very green around her, the foliage lush with the November moisture and a chill heavy in the air. But she didn’t particularly notice. She was weeping heavily now, oblivious to her surroundings.
There was a wall in front of her, created from stone and mossy with growth. Sobbing, she vaulted over it and kept walking, having no idea where she was going but only knowing that she had to get away. Cows were suddenly around her, black and white things that continued munching on grass even as she walked through them. They hardly gave her any notice. A young calf watched her approach and skittered away to its mother when she came too close. Still, Elizabeau kept walking. She was willing to walk forever if it would only clear Rhys du Bois out of her raging mind.
A river lay before her at the edge of the field, a slender ribbon of greenish blue that glittered under the November sun. She headed towards it, her crying increasing, and suddenly she was running towards it at full speed. The river. Mayhap she could drown herself and be done with the pain. Or perhaps she could swim across it and continue into England, walking and walking until she could walk no more. At the moment, her mind was as muddled as her heart. She no longer cared what happened to her, so long as she could find relief from the anguish that consumed her.
The river drew closer, beckoning her into the deep bluish waters. Behind her, she heard the cows as they began to moo loudly. Some of them yelped as if startled. Suddenly she heard footfalls to match her own, confusing her for the moment, but she kept running with the sole focus of reaching the calm waters beyond. But the footfalls bore down directly behind her and she was hit from behind, crashing her down to the soft green earth. A massive body was atop her, enormously warm arms going about her slender body. She knew who it was before she even saw the face. She could hear Rhys in her ear.
“Where are you going?” he hissed.
Elizabeau exploded. “For the love of God, let me go,” she began to twist underneath him, clawing at the earth as she tried to get out from underneath him. “Leave me to my misery, du Bois. Let me go or I swear I will kill you.”
Rhys held on tightly, his face buried in her neck as he held on tight. It was like trying to wrestle a wild horse; he knew he had to ride out the storm. If he lost his grip on her, it would be worse the second time he caught her.
“Calm yourself, angel,” he murmured, taking a righteous pounding to
the right side of his head and neck. “All will be well, I swear it.”
“Nay!” she screamed, twisting violently in his arms. “I hate you; do you hear me? I hate you! Let me go!”
She had managed to box his right ear quite soundly; the drum was ringing with the shock. He tucked his head in and shifted his grip, trying to move away from her flailing arms.
“Elizabeau,” he was calm, trying to break through her haze of fury. “I will not let you go, not now, not ever. I am sorry you are so hurt. I never meant to hurt you. You must believe me.”
He sounded very soothing and it disarmed her. The tears began to overtake the fury and her flailing lessened. She wept loudly, still trying to claw away from him.
“Let me go,” she wept pitifully. “I order you to let me go, du Bois. I order you away from me. You must listen to me, do you hear? I am ordering you to leave me be.”
He sat up, taking her with him. She was on his lap, struggling weakly as he buried his face in the back of her head. When she realized that he was not going to release her, she simply sat there and cried.
Cascades of luscious golden-red hair covered his head and face. He inhaled her scent deeply, realizing how very much he had missed it. He’d done a good job at pretending he could recover from all of this. He’d convinced himself that he’d done an admirable job of it. When she’d walked away from Whitebrook, he followed her with the intention of simply watching out for her. But the moment he saw her running for the river, all of his strength fled. He knew she was shattered; he was shattered, too. But she had the added pressure of an entire kingdom bearing down on her. Perhaps it had just been too much to take. The thought of her floating in the river turned his heart, his mind, his body to ice. It would have killed him, too.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into the back of her head. “Please forgive me, Elizabeau. Please forgive me for causing you such anguish.”
She was weeping so loudly that she barely heard him. She felt his face against her head and in one last, desperate move to be free, she slammed her head back and butted him squarely in the nose. Momentarily startled from the shock and pain, he loosened his grip and she propelled herself forward. But he still had hold of her and he threw himself on top of her as she struggled to crawl away.
Pressed in to the soft green grass by the weight of his body, Elizabeau lay there and wept. Rhys was still seeing stars, dripping deep red blood onto the back of her hair. He wiped it away as quickly as it flowed, trying not to dirty her any more than he already was. But he couldn’t risk letting go of her at this point. He wrapped his big arms around her, trapping her with his massive body as she laid there and heaved.
“I lied to you,” his lips were next to her ear, blood from his nose running onto the grass. “I did not mean it when I said that we would recover from this momentary madness. I will never recover from it. But knowing that does not make it any easier for you. It does not erase what you must do.”
He wasn’t sure she had heard him; she just laid there, her face pressed into the grass as she cried more deeply than he had ever heard anyone cry. It tore his heart out.
He kissed her ear, getting blood on it. “Please do not despair,” he murmured, kissing her again. “I will love you until I die. But you must marry your prince. I thought if I made you hate me, it would make it easier for you to do your duty. I see that I was horribly wrong and I must beg your forgiveness.”
She still did not react, her soft weeping filling the air. After a moment, and very slowly, a hand came up from the grass and moved to Rhys’ wrist, moving down his hand until she found his fingers. Then her head lifted and she brought the fingers to her lips, kissing them with more tenderness than he had ever known to exist. It was painful, exhilarating, agonizing. He began to kiss the side of her head, her ear, her head, tasting her sweetness, all of his restraint leaving him.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, flipping her over on to her back as his enormous body smothered her. His lips were on her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks. “I did not mean to upset you so. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us.”
His bloody nose was smearing on her cheek but she hardly cared. Elizabeau’s weeping continued, but now for a different reason. Her arms went around his neck so tightly that she threatened to strangle him.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she sobbed. “I thought that you hated me. I wanted to hate you, too. But I could not. I… I just wanted to leave. I had to leave.”
He stopped kissing her long enough to take her face in his massive hands, swallowing up her skull. The brilliant blue eyes blazed at her.
“You and I will never be apart,” he whispered. “I’ve tried to tell myself that it must be so, that we must part ways now or forever condemn ourselves. But I know now that I will be at your side for the rest of your life, serving you with unwavering devotion. You may marry another, but I will always be sworn to you, my lady. You will never be rid of me, with God as my witness.”
She gazed up at him, his bloodied nose and stubbled face. It occurred to her that he looked exhausted. Perhaps he had been just as miserable as she had been; only he had been too stoic to show it. Her crying lessened as she stared at him, digesting his words and the turn of events. It was as if she had come out of a nightmare and suddenly, the world was starting to right itself again. But his words, comforting though they might be, brought up an entirely new set of issues. Her weary mind began to reach far into the future when she would be married to another, yet Rhys would always be with her, sworn to her… untouchable to her.
“I wonder,” she said softly, her voice dull from weeping, “what will be worse? Married to another and never seeing you again, or married to another and seeing you every day, knowing we can never be together.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Never seeing you again.”
She sighed, raking her fingers through his hair gently, memorizing the feel of him. “I have been only thinking of me, Rhys. What of you? I will be married and bearing children for another man. But you… if you stay to serve me, what will you do? Will you never marry again?”
He shrugged. “I have not thought on it. I already have a son; I do not need to marry to produce an heir.”
“So you would waste your life serving a woman you can never have?”
He pursed his lips. “You cannot have it both ways. You cannot have me serve you and also never see me again. Make your choice, lady, and I shall abide by it.”
She could see that he wasn’t truly frustrated; he was, in a mild way, attempting to force her to think of the coming years. Now that they were both calming, she was able to think far more rationally. Emotions always wreaked havoc with her thought processes.
“I would want you with me, of course,” she said softly.
“Then it shall be so,” he replied. “But I will make one thing perfectly clear if that is indeed your choice.”
“And that is?”
“There will be no physicality involved. I will not conduct a physical relationship with you while you are married to another man. I do not share, and I do not take another’s leavings. I either have all of you or none of you. This I must do for my own sake as well as my own moral convictions. Is that clear?”
Surprisingly, she did not flare. She continued to gaze up at him, the deep green eyes red from so much weeping. Then she sighed softly.
“It is,” she whispered. “As painful as it is for me to say, it is abundantly clear. My position will be precarious enough without the added complication of a lover. It would be used against me and you would be pulled into something as dark and deep as you can imagine. But it does not mean that I will not love you with all of my heart until the day I die, Rhys. Nothing will ever change that.”
“You may very well grow to like your husband, you know. You may even grow to love him.”
“And you may fall in love with another woman and leave me altogether.”
He conceded the fact. “Anything is possible. But at the moment, I
am only thinking of you. If I cannot have you, then at least I can serve you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Never more strongly about anything.”
She felt strangely happy and strangely crushed all at the same time. Her hands began to move over his head, his scratchy cheeks. Without another word, she lifted herself up and kissed him fully on the lips. It was a sensual kiss, one that sent bolts of excitement through his big body. He pulled her into a crushing embrace and slanted his mouth over hers, suckling her sweet lips for a moment until his tongue demanded entry. Elizabeau’s mouth instinctively opened for him, the new sensations of his wicked kiss filling her brain with a new kind of madness.
It was the second time that their passion came in the grass. Rhys rolled over on his back, taking her off of the damp earth so that she would be spared. His hands were in her hair, moving down the small of her back and feeling her sweet body against him. His hands, as large as trenchers, were moving by pure instinct; as his mouth ravaged her neck, his fingers found their way onto her buttocks and he gripped her tightly, holding her pelvis against his.
Rhys’ thighs were apart and Elizabeau’s legs between them. Though she was a maiden, she knew enough about the ways of men and women to know that Rhys had a very hard arousal that was pressed against her Venus mound. His enormous hands were covering her buttocks, holding her against him as his lips and tongue sucked every last thought from her head. She should have been shocked, embarrassed at his blatant physical reaction to her, but she found that she was not in the least. His excitement fed her, causing her head to swim and her breathing to come in strange gasps. All she knew was that she very much wanted to explore whatever they were feeling between them. She was positive she would never experience such passion, or joy, again.
“Rhys,” she murmured as his lips suckled hers. “Show me how a man and woman respond to each other. Show me everything.”
He growled deep in his throat, his furious kisses easing. “I cannot and you know it,” he said hoarsely. “You cannot go to your prince compromised.”
Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances Page 14