Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “The execution will take place tomorrow at dawn,” he told Rhys. “Be prepared to move quickly because when I lead her to the block, I do not want any delay. We must get it over with and send word back to the king that the deed has been completed. Is that understood?”

  Rhys nodded his head. “Perfectly, my lord.”

  Lewis moved around the table, eying him. “I hope you are good. I do not want this to be… messy. It’s simply not right with a woman involved.”

  “I am good,” Rhys assured him. “I can promise that this will not be messy.”

  Lewis nodded and turned away. “Show him where he will sleep for tonight,” he instructed Edward. “Then you will retreat to the lady’s room. I want her carefully watched until morning.”

  Edward nodded, pulling Rhys along with him. Without a word, they headed to the upper floors of the keep.

  *

  It was very late, or very early, depending on one’s point of view. As Elizabeau sat near the fire when she should have been sleeping, she preferred to think of it as very late. To think of it as early morning would be to rush her appointment with the block and she was trying very hard to stay calm.

  It would have helped considerably had Edward been with her. At least she would go to the block with someone familiar at her side. But Edward had left almost three days before, sent to take missives announcing her execution date. That was what Lewis had told her in a very non-emotional tone. The man wasn’t being cruel, but he wasn’t being of comfort, either. He was doing his duty as he saw it. He was serving the king and so was Edward.

  So Elizabeau had spent a good deal of time alone over the past three days, thinking of her life, of what could have been, and rubbing her rounded belly to comfort the child within. She had already decided it was a boy and she had already decided to name him Rory, a strong Welsh name like his father’s. It gave her great delight to name the child even though he was barely making himself known. So she spoke to Rory by the hour and told the child how glad she would be to see him in heaven, which is where they would finally meet. It gave her a good deal of comfort knowing that she and her child would see each other soon. But it did not give her comfort knowing that Rhys would not meet his son for a very long time.

  When she was done speaking with the baby, she lost herself in the memories of Rhys, of the morning they had conceived Rory and of his strong body and warm lips. She would close her eyes and feel the texture of his hair or remember the smell of his skin. And then the tears would come but they would soon clear as she reminded herself to be grateful for what she had experienced. She only hoped Rhys would remind himself of the same during the dark days ahead that would undoubtedly face him.

  It was a few hours before dawn as she sat staring into the fire, trying to describe the taste of sugared raspberries to her son. They were the soft whispers of a mother, punctuated by the crackling of the peat now and again. She wasn’t concerned with being alone anymore, but she was concerned with the next turning of the latch on the door; it would mean that Lewis had come for her and a cold blade awaited. She hoped that she would show dignity when being faced with it. She hoped it would be quick and relatively painless. She prayed Rhys would remain strong when he received the news; she almost couldn’t cry over it any longer. Tears were of no use to anyone.

  The rattling of the latch startled her and, in a panic, she bolted to the window to see if the cloudy, snowy sky was growing light with the coming sun. She was terrified that she had lost all track of time and suddenly her time was ended. She could hear conversation outside the door, the muttering of the guards, and suddenly the panel lurched open and a familiar figure came through. In the darkness, she recognized Edward almost immediately and opened her mouth to greet him. But directly behind Edward was a man of such enormity that she was instantly terrified. She pressed back against the cold stone wall in fear.

  Edward’s gaze found her in the dark room and he smiled timidly at her. Behind him, his colossal companion shut and bolted the door.

  “My lady,” Edward said gently, a smile on his lips. “I have returned.”

  Elizabeau would not come away from the wall; her frightened gaze moved between Edward and the massive knight still partially hidden in the darkness.

  “Have you come to take me to the executioner?” she whispered in a tight voice. “It is not dawn yet, Edward. I am not ready to go.”

  Edward paused in the middle of the room; he could see how terrified she was and he indicated his silent companion.

  “God willing you will not have to go,” he murmured. “I have brought you hope.”

  Elizabeau didn’t move; she remained pressed against the wall, her frightened gaze moving to the enormous man who was now removing his cloak. When he pulled off his helm and moved into the light, she still did not recognize him. He was hairy and bearded and dark.

  Rhys could see the terror in her eyes. It only compounded the myriad of emotions already pounding through his veins. He was so glad to see her that he could not speak for the lump in his throat; she looked rather thin in the face, and miserable to boot, but he had never seen her more beautiful. She was every bit, and more, as delicious as he had remembered. Tears filled his eyes. But he swallowed the emotions strangling him enough so that he could speak.

  “ ’Tis me, angel,” he said as gently as he could. “I know I do not look like myself, but it was necessary so I would not be recognized.”

  Something seemed to change in Elizabeau’s face; her terror was turning to stark, naked shock. Her dark green eyes bulged wildly and her hands flew to her mouth. But still, she remained against the wall, unmoving, as if terrified that she was dreaming. Rhys raked his hair back, away from his face, so that she could see his features more clearly as he slowly moved towards her.

  “Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “It is really and truly me. You knew that I would find you somehow, did you not? God has….”

  “Rhys?” she finally squeaked.

  He smiled, nodding. “It is I.”

  She gasped and great, fat tears suddenly spilled onto her cheeks. “It is truly you?”

  He laughed softly at her shock. “Truly.”

  With a squeal, she suddenly hurled herself off of the wall and flew into his arms. As Edward watched, Rhys swallowed her up in his gigantic embrace, smothering her with flesh and armor and complete, obvious adoration. Elizabeau wept, her arms around Rhys’ neck, as he buried his face in her hair. The emotion between them was a palpable thing, filling the room like a warm, liquid embrace. The delirious joy was everywhere. At some point, a soft sob or two filled the air as Rhys’ emotions got the better of him. He was weeping with her. When Edward realized this, he had to wipe away his own tears. One could not watch the reunion and could not help but be deeply touched by it.

  “How…,” Elizabeau gasped as Rhys’ lips found her mouth. “How did you find me? How did you know?”

  Rhys had moved beyond merely embracing her to kissing every piece of flesh his lips could come into contact with. “Radcliffe found me,” he whispered in between heated kisses. “He has risked much to reunite us.”

  Elizabeau burst into fresh tears, turning to look at Radcliffe even as Rhys smothered the left side of her head with kisses. “Edward,” she sobbed softly. “You did this for me? God knows I can never repay you.”

  Edward wiped the tears from his cheeks, smiling. “You have already paid this debt a thousand times over, my lady,” he said quietly. “Your kindness and friendship has.”

  She smiled at him through her tears, turning back to Rhys as the man suckled her lips furiously. She responded with enthusiasm until she finally had to pull away and take a breath.

  “They are going to kill me,” she murmured as his lips suckled her jaw. “My uncle sent an execution order.”

  “I know,” he replied, mouth against her flesh. “I have come to get you out of here.”

  “But how?”

  “All in good time, angel.”

  She didn’t ask a
ny more questions; Rhys was a brilliant man and she knew he already had a plan in place to effectuate her escape. It was an answer to prayer; days upon days of asking for God’s good grace. Somewhere, somehow, He had listened to her. She found it rather surprising because He had never listened to her before. Yet she would not question Him; she could only be deeply grateful for His mercy. So she held on to Rhys, arms wrapped around his head, allowing herself to feel the joy and thrill and love she had for the man. She still could not believe that he was in her arms.

  “I am so glad to see you.” Nose in his neck, she inhaled his musky scent for the first time in ages and relished the comforting fragrance. “I’ve missed you more than I could bear.”

  He tried not to squeeze too tightly and crush her. “And I, you,” he murmured. “I never knew it was possible to ache for someone as badly as I ached for you.”

  She clung to him, beyond words for the moment. But eventually her hands found his long, dirty hair and she pulled her face from the crook of his neck, inspecting the inky strands.

  “Why is your hair so long?” she demanded softly, sounding like a disapproving wife. Then she looked at his face, his beard. “Why do you look like a madman?”

  He grinned, his straight white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “I was mad,” he muttered, kissing her in between sentences. “I’ve been mad every day for the past three months without you.”

  “But you are so… hairy,” she pulled back farther to inspect him as if just seeing him for the first time. He was broader than she remembered, too. “And big. What on earth have you been doing?”

  “It would take too long to explain. Suffice it to say that I am here, I am real, and I will get you out of this place, I swear it.”

  Her gaze moved to his face again; it was still Rhys, still with the same brilliant blue eyes and chiseled features. But the coating of dark hair was deeply masculine, wild, and she wasn’t entirely displeased by it. Still, she liked him better when he wasn’t covered up by so much hair. He had such a beautiful face that did not need to be covered up. Running her hands over his beard, she giggled.

  “It is scratchy,” she commented, watching him laugh in response. “I do not think I like it. It feels like sand.”

  He laughed again. He could have laughed all night. But his joy was short-lived when Edward stepped towards them, holding out his hands in a quelling gesture.

  “You must keep quiet,” he begged softly. “We do not want the guards outside to hear this. Moreover, we must make plans and there is little time left.”

  Rhys settled down, knowing he was right. But it did not prevent him from unwinding one of his arms from Elizabeau’s body and placing his hand against her belly. When he felt the firm roundness beneath his palm, he almost dissolved into tears again. Elizabeau watched his face, putting her hand over his as he took his first feel of their child. There was such reverence in his touch that it took her breath away.

  “Edward told you,” she whispered.

  Rhys nodded, his brilliant blue eyes finding hers and a thousand unspoken words pouring forth. He just stared at her for a moment. “He says you have not been feeling well.”

  She shrugged. “It is of no concern, truly. Besides; I have never felt better than I do at this very moment. You are a miraculous cure to what ails me.”

  Smiling, he kissed her again and went to the chair nearest the hearth, setting her gently it in. He treated her like a piece of fragile glass, as if she were going to break at any second. Then he stood next to her, holding her hand tightly and gathering his thoughts. Edward pulled up a small stool and deposited his bulk. As the fire popped, they huddled in close quarters.

  “Now that we are in the belly of the beast, what is our next step?” Edward asked quietly.

  Rhys squeezed Elizabeau’s hand, inhaling thoughtfully as he did so. He was still shaking from the emotion of their reunion, so much so that it was a struggle for him to focus. But he forced himself; too much hung in the balance.

  “I have mulled several scenarios over in my mind but the one that seems the most logical to me is to remove her as quickly as possible,” he said, gazing down at Elizabeau’s pale face as he spoke. “If we can remove her now, under cover of darkness, it will give us time to get away. I fear that if we wait until morning to attempt an escape, eight hundred of de Lacy’s troops might have something else to say about it. I cannot stave off an army alone and I do not want to jeopardize her further.”

  Edward nodded in agreement. “So what do you have planned?”

  “I will need your assistance.”

  “You know that you have it.”

  Rhys looked at Elizabeau fully in the face. “Are you strong enough to do this, angel? I need for you to be strong just a while longer.”

  She clutched his hands fiercely, nodding her head. “I could fly if you wanted me to. What would you have me do?”

  A short time later, the door to Lady Elizabeau’s chamber opened and the soldiers on guard watched the enormous, cloaked French swordsman leave the room and fade into the darkness of the stairwell. Sir Edward remained behind in the lady’s chamber, mentioning that the lady had been overcome with the presentation of the swordsman and now lay upon her bed in a fitful doze. When two of the guards looked into the room and saw a figure covered up upon the mattress, they were no wiser to the ruse.

  The figure on the mattress was pillows and clothing shaped to look like a body. Beneath Rhys’ great black cloak, a small lady clung to his torso and prayed that they would not be discovered. It was the most terrifying thing she had ever done.

  She had no idea that the worst was yet to come.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  From a distance, Ludlow looked like a great hulking beast crouched against the night sky. As David rode up on the bastion from a distance, he could see the towers reaching to the sky. Upon the wall walk, a lantern was poised every twenty feet or so to provide some light for the sentries on guard. He could see the motion on the wall walk of men on night duty. Everything looked relatively quiet.

  He had followed Conrad’s man up the road that led to Ludlow but had lost him when they had traveled through a cluster of trees about a mile from the fortress. As David pulled up at the edge of the trees, not wanting to be sighted by the sentries, he felt a distinct amount of frustration. There was no other place for Conrad’s knight to go; he had to have gone into the castle. David began to feel fury along with his frustration. He’d long suspected there had been a traitor in their midst; now, he was coming to see that he had perhaps been right.

  In the trees, he dismounted his charger and let the horse munch on some fat green grass as he leaned against a tree and plotted his next move. His instinct was to return to Lioncross and tell his brother what he had seen and thereby allow Christopher to make the next move, but the better part of him wanted to track down Conrad’s man and gut him. Still, one thought made him run cold; the Teutonic warrior was more than likely carrying out orders; Conrad’s orders. Which meant that Conrad was the traitor, a thought that made David’s blood run cold.

  He decided right then that he had to get back to his brother to inform him of what he had discovered. Just as he was preparing to mount, the sharp point of a broadsword jabbed him in the unprotected spot between his back plate and chest armor. It was a vulnerable spot and David immediately put up his hands in surrender.

  “Keep your hands in the air,” a heavy Germanic accent commanded softly. “I have seen you fight. I know what you can do with a sword.”

  David knew it was the man he had trailed and silently cursed himself for being stupid enough to have gotten caught. “I am at your mercy,” he said steadily. “May I at least turn around to face you?”

  After several long seconds, David could feel the broadsword removed and he turned to the man. It was one of Conrad’s generals, a tall man with long blond hair and a thin face. David didn’t even know the man’s name for he had been one of the more silent men in Conrad’s retinue. Yet the man was not sile
nt tonight.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly. “Why did you follow me?”

  David, hands still up, cocked an eyebrow. “That should be obvious. What are you doing riding to Ludlow in the middle of the night?”

  The blond knight raised both eyebrows in response to David’s somewhat accusing question. “Following the man you sent to Ludlow. Tell me why you have sent him here.”

  David’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean Rhys? You know very well why the man was sent on ahead.”

  The tall knight shook his head slowly. “Do not take me for an idiot, my lord,” he said. “You know very well that I speak of the second man.”

  “Second man?” David scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  The sword tip was back in David’s gut. “I told you not to take me for an idiot. I followed your knight to this place. He rode in less than an hour ago and no one stopped him. So I stand here and wait for him to come out, eh?”

  David eyed the sword in his belly. “I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” he said steadily. “I did not send a second knight to Ludlow tonight. You must be mistaken.”

  “I am not mistaken,” he replied. “The prince saw him, too. We want to know what de Lohr is doing and not telling us.”

  An inkling of concern flickered in David’s eye as he watched the man speak. He was clearly sincere with his statement, of that he was certain. He believed what he was saying which made David entertain the thought that perhaps the man wasn’t mad after all.

  “We have not done anything that the prince has not been fully informed of,” he said, eyeing the man for a moment. “This… this second knight. Did you recognize him?”

  The tall knight nodded. “The mean one.”

  “Mean one?”

  “He is the big man with white hair. You call him Lawrence.”

  David stared at him. Then, his brow furrowed with disbelief. “You saw Lawrence ride from Lioncross tonight?”