Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He took a long, deep breath and looked up at her, his brilliant blue eyes glowing. She stroked his scratchy cheeks as he spoke.

  “As I am wholly grateful as well,” he murmured. “But… but I find that every conviction I ever held about completing this mission is now shattered. If de Lohr were to come through that door at this moment and demand I turn you over, I would kill him. I truly would. You belong to none other but me and I will fight anyone who would try to take you away.”

  Her face grew serious. “You cannot,” she whispered. “You said yourself that if we stay together, our life would be one of stress and fear. We would be running for the rest of our lives, destined for a life of pursuing enemies. We cannot live like that. You cannot live like that; you are a great knight, Rhys. You have a great life to fulfill. We both do.”

  He stared at her, her words cutting into him like a knife. Now, the tables were turned and it was she who was comforting him. He had collapsed and she was strong. It was an odd switching of roles but not a surprising one; Rhys always knew that Elizabeau was inordinately strong. She had showed him that time and time again, and she was entirely correct. Now, he would have to depend on her to keep him strong.

  He remembered thinking once, when he had first met her, that he’d made it a practice in life to stay clear of women in general. They could topple a man faster than the mightiest enemy and he’d seen it before. God help him, now he was the one being toppled. Now he understood why men did what they did when a woman was involved. Stiffly, he rose to his feet and kissed her on the forehead.

  “I know,” he murmured, kissing her again and releasing her. He was afraid to say anymore, afraid he would run amuck. “I will finish dressing and go to my brother. We will wait for you downstairs.”

  She patted his cheek. “As you say, darling,” she turned back to the bed, collecting her clothing where he had thrown it on the floor when he had ripped it from her body. “I shan’t be long.”

  He didn’t say anything, pulling his boots on and proceeding with his armor. By the time he got to his breast plate, he required some help and she gave him silent assistance in finishing securing a few of the leather straps. When he finally picked up his helm and turned to look at her, she was smiling at him.

  “You look like the man I first saw at Hyde House,” she said. “You were the biggest man I had ever seen. I was terrified of you, only I would never let you know that.”

  He smiled weakly. “You portrayed the exact opposite. In fact, you were quite combative.”

  She put her fists up in front of her as if ready to box him. “Combative, was I? Now you’ve insulted me. Prepare to fight.”

  He eyed her, rubbing his chin as he spoke. “Fighting you wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and put her fists to rest on her hips. “Is that so? Just what do you have in mind? And how do you know that I will not protest?”

  He wriggled his eyebrows and turned for the door. “You did not protest last night. Or this morning.”

  She saw that he was preparing to leave and she dashed to his side, putting her hand over his as it rested on the latch. Suddenly, she was very serious as she gazed up at him.

  “Kiss me before you go,” she begged softly. “It might be the very last time we have such an opportunity before… before.…”

  She could not finish and he did not let her. Setting the helm to the table, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, sweetly, tasting her essence and burning the sensation deep into his memory. His mouth moved from her lips to her cheeks to her forehead, branding every inch of flesh he could come into contact with. His heart was hurting so that he was positive it would burst. He simply could not believe this was about to end, that he allowed himself unrestrained feeling for the woman. But he was so glad that he had. He wouldn’t have missed the experience, short as it was, for anything.

  He returned to her lips and kissed her one last time before pulling back, gazing adoringly into the dark green eyes. Gently, he touched her cheek.

  “Finish dressing,” he murmured. “I will see you downstairs.”

  Her lips were swollen from his attentions, her cheeks flushed. “I love you, Rhys. For always and forever. You will remember that.”

  His brilliant blue eyes were dim with sorrow. “As I will love you, and no other, for the rest of my life.”

  She smiled bravely at him, closing the door softly behind him as he left. But the tears came the moment he quit the room and she allowed herself a few, luxurious moments of wallowing in grief that was beyond description.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rod was waiting for Rhys with a big cup of ale in his hand. His feet were propped up on a chair and he hardly gave his brother a glance when the man finally joined him at the table. Rhys was withdrawn and moody as the serving wench presented him with bread and cheese. He ignored it for the most part, helping himself to the ale that Rod was drinking.

  Rod watched his brother drink heavily from the corner of his eye. “Here,” his feet suddenly dropped to the floor and he reached under the table, drawing forth some of his brother’s equipment that he had brought with him. “I thought you might want this.”

  It was Rhys’ double-sword sheath, complete with both weapons intact. There were also more pieces of armor but Rhys was already fortified. Rhys stood up and began to strap on the double-sword sheath.

  “Thanks,” he said to his brother as he fussed with the straps. “I left Whitebrook so quickly that I left all of my weaponry behind.”

  Rod flicked a finger at him. “Where’d you get that armor?”

  “From St. Briavels.”

  Rod took a good look at the older, well-used armor. “Is that the stuff that FitzPeter gave you?”

  Rhys nodded, securing the last of the leather. “It was all I had available.”

  Rod inspected it. “It looks serviceable enough. It’s heavier than your newer protection.”

  “My newer protection is far superior.”

  Rhys plopped back down in the chair and reclaimed his drink. Rod watched him slurp one cup and pour himself another. He could tell that his brother was deeply disturbed and he set his own cup down, his gaze sympathetic.

  “Rhys,” he said quietly. “You know I would never dream of interfering in your personal life, but what in the hell is going on? Did I just see what I thought I saw up in that room?”

  Rhys took two long swallows before turning to his brother with an impassive expression. “What do you think you saw?”

  Rod lifted his eyebrows at him. “I may be many things, but a fool is not among them. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you and the lady have been engaging in, shall we say, marital pleasures.”

  “And just how would you know that?”

  “Because it was written all over her face,” Rod snapped softly. “And yours; since when do you drink like this? Brother, you are bleeding confusion and sorrow out of every pour of your body. I can feel it.”

  Rhys’ jaw flexed dangerously; coming from a usually emotionless man, it was disturbing. “You feel nothing.”

  Rod hissed; unlike his older brother, he was more passionate, more emotional about things. He did not like seeing his beloved brother upset.

  “You insult me by lying,” Rod said. “Or do you truly take me for a fool?”

  Rhys looked at him, then, and the tick in his jaw grew worse. “You are a fool if you continue this line of conversation.”

  “Why?” Rod shot back softly. “Are you going to run me through with those dual blades? Are you going to strike me? Or are you going to tell me the truth and let me help you?”

  Rhys stared at him. His jaw was so tense that his lips were white. He suddenly sat back in his chair as if Rod had just struck him.

  “You cannot help,” he muttered, turning away. “God knows, I wish you could. I truly wish you could.”

  Rod was relieved that Rhys hadn’t taken him up on his suggestion of implanting the swords into his body. He was also relieved
that Rhys seemed to be letting his guard down. He sat forward, lowering his voice.

  “Tell me the truth. Did you compromise the lady?” he asked.

  Rhys lowered his head; he was staring into this lap. After a moment, he nodded his head. “I did, and I do not regret it, not for one moment.” His head shot up and he stared at his brother, the brilliant blue eyes blazing. “I love her, Rod. I love her with all of my heart and soul and she returns that love. We are shattered at the knowledge that she will marry another and we both know that there isn’t a damn thing we can do to stop it. I would give up my work, my strength, and my life just for a chance to be with her but we both know that it is impossible. Now that I’ve said all of this, do you still believe you can help me? I am a knight who has destroyed my mission and forsaken everything I ever believed in. But know this; I would do it again in an instant if presented with the same proposition. The lady means everything to me and I would do it all again without hesitation.”

  It was an impassioned, devastating speech. Rod stared at his brother, heartbroken and shocked. But he really had not suspected otherwise. Still, he hurt desperately for his brother. He could read such pain in the man’s eyes as he could not fathom. He sighed heavily.

  “Rhett told me everything,” he said quietly. “He told me why he summoned me from Bronllys. After what you have just told me, you must turn her over to me, Rhys. You must let me complete this mission before the damage is irreversible.”

  “It is already irreversible,” Rhys snapped softly. “I am thinking of taking the lady out of the country. Perhaps to France or Ireland, somewhere where we can be married and live out our lives together.”

  Rod’s brow furrowed. “Are you mad? She is the next queen of England. She is destined to rule.”

  “She is destined to be my wife.”

  “She belongs to another.”

  The last two sentences were spoken rapidly, one atop the other. Rhys and Rod glared at each other, the brilliant blue eyes of Orlaith’s sons blazing passion and sorrow at one another. Rhys turned back to his ale and drained the second cup. When he set it down to pour a third, a soft white hand reached down to take it away. The brothers looked up to see Elizabeau standing next to the table.

  She looked beautiful. Clad in one of Gwyneth’s old brown surcoats and wrapped in the dead woman’s cloak, she had brushed her golden red hair and plaited it into a thick braid that draped down one shoulder. There was something so incredibly lovely and serene about the woman, something indescribable and unreachable. She took Rhys’ cup and set it to the opposite side of the table as she took a chair.

  “I would guess that you’ve had two or more cups of that stuff since you’ve been sitting here,” she said evenly, lifting an eyebrow at him when he frowned at her. “I’ve been around you enough to know that once you start, you don’t easily stop. And do not glare at me. Hand me some of that bread, please.”

  Rhys pursed his lips irritably but stopped glaring as she had commanded. He broke off the center part of the bread for her and placed it in her hand. She smiled sweetly at him.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, popping a soft piece in her mouth and casting a glance at Rod. “Good morn to you, Rod. It would seem that we saw each other earlier this morning under somewhat awkward circumstances.”

  Rod gazed at the woman, seeing exactly what his brother did in her. She was exquisite, intelligent, strong and ethereal. He didn’t blame Rhys in the least for succumbing to her and he could see, clearly, how much control she had over the man.

  “It was my fault for barging in when I did, my lady,” he replied, trying not to think of her naked body wrapped in a sheet. “I am sorry I disturbed you.”

  He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke; Elizabeau continued to watch him as she ate, studying his movements, his expression, realizing he was either embarrassed or distracted. From the look on Rhys’ face, she had no doubt what the topic of conversation had been before she had arrived. She put her hand on Rhys’ arm.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked him gently. “You must eat something. We have a long trip back to Whitebrook.”

  He didn’t reply but dutifully took a piece of the bread and chewed on it. He remained silent as did Rod. Elizabeau put the last of the bread in her mouth and went for the cheese.

  “Well,” she said brightly. “I can see that you both are brilliant conversationalists this morning. I suppose that I will have to do all of the talking.”

  While Rod smiled weakly, Rhys continued to stare at the tabletop, slowly chewing his bread. Elizabeau could feel the man’s depression radiating from him like a black cloud but she refused to give in to it, not now. Not when they had so little time left together. She did not want to spend it being miserable. She would have misery enough in the years to come.

  “Do you know that when I was very young, one of my mother’s gentleman friends bought me a monkey?” she said, watching Rod’s expression lighten somewhat. “It’s true. I had a little monkey with a round head and a little beard that moved very comically when it ate. He was a funny little thing; he liked to hang on the tops of doors and jump on unsuspecting people below. Once he jumped on a serving woman and do you know that she fainted dead away? And once she revived, she screamed for the rest of the day. I thought it was great fun but my mother was furious.”

  Rod was grinning by the time she was finished. She was a very charming storyteller. “And did this horrific little creature have a name?” he asked.

  She nodded. “His name was Rhys du Bois.” When Rhys suddenly looked up at her, she broke out into laughter. “I mean, his name was George. George the Dragonslayer.”

  She was still laughing at Rhys and the man’s stern countenance cracked. His lips twitched with a smile as he shook his head at her. “You named a common beast after the greatest knight who has ever lived?”

  Her smile faded. “You are the greatest knight who has ever lived.”

  The air between them suddenly bristled with emotion. Rod could not only see it, he could feel it. He cleared his throat softly, not wanting the light moment to deteriorate. “If we are to make it back to Whitebrook at a reasonable hour, then we should go.”

  Elizabeau nodded, wrapping her hand around Rhys’ gloved one. He squeezed it tightly, taking the pitcher of ale and downing it in three great swallows. Elizabeau watched him without a word, knowing that the man was looking for something to ease his pain. Rod stood up, gathering what was left of his brother’s armor from under the table as he prepared to leave.

  “I’ll go see if the horses are ready,” he said, moving to the front door. “I will meet you out front.”

  When he was gone, it was just the two of them sitting alone and silent at the table. They were still staring at each other. Rhys finally broke the spell, rising to his feet with a slow and deliberate move. Taking both of Elizabeau’s hands, he gently pulled her to stand next to him. Kissing both of her palms, then her wrists, he tucked one of her hands into the crook of his right elbow and led her out into the morning beyond.

  *

  David had two choices in riding for Whitebrook; either through the mountains or by the coastal route. In the wee early hours before dawn, David had mounted a contingent of twenty men and decided to take the coastal route. It was less strenuous on the horses and more easily traveled. Moreover, if Rhys was heading for Ogmore as he should be, it was more than likely the route he would be taking simply for ease on the lady. David instructed Lawrence and the other men to be vigilant in looking for Rhys and the lady.

  So they rode hard into the pre-dawn hours, making their way to the coastal road and proceeding at a fast pace as the eastern sky began to turn faint shades of gray. They passed through some smaller towns along the way, beginning to come alive as the day advanced. But what David failed to realize was that in passing through the town of Bassaleg, he had picked up a tail.

  David should have been more vigilant but he was more concerned with finding Rhys. The party that began to trail them in Bassaleg
was perhaps no more than seven or eight men but they stayed well away from David’s party and trailed him from the northwest. While David and his men openly used the main road, the other party stayed to the smaller road and trees to the north.

  The men sent to search for Geoffrey’s bastard had been carousing in the area for over a week. It was their job to keep an eye out for de Lohr and his men, escorting the princess to meet with her betrothed at Ogmore. Aye, they knew it was Ogmore; they had for several days. A contact from within de Lohr’s camp had told them so and gave information about the generality of their route. And so, they had been waiting.

  The sighting of David de Lohr had been a pleasant realization. And the man had been riding like the wind. So being the cunning soldiers that they were, they quickly followed. If the earl’s brother was riding for hell, there must be a reason. And John’s men would know what the reason was.

  Fortunately, the sun hadn’t risen yet so the party of the king’s men was able to follow de Lohr relatively unobtrusively. They had followed him into Newport where they had almost lost the trail, but managed to pick it up again on the other side. Still, de Lohr rode as if oblivious to all else.

  David wasn’t oblivious but he was focused. When the party hit Newport, he had sent his men to some local inns to search for du Bois but they had come back empty-handed. They had also veered off in Langstone because it was popular with travelers and had many inns, but again, they came back without du Bois. The next town was Caldicot.

  The sun was just rising as they entered the town. Half of the men headed down to the taverns near the seaport while the other half, including David and Lawrence, went to the north end of the city to start their search. It was purely by chance that they came upon Rod de Titouan as the man was leading out two chargers near a cluster of inns. David was about to greet the man when Rhys, and Lady Elizabeau, emerged from one of the taverns.

  “Rhys,” David hailed as he rode upon them. “What luck finding you. We had just about given up.”