Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Only Rhys wasn’t laughing. He stared at the figure with the tattered tunic that hung to his knees and a hood that partially covered his face. His hands were hidden in the folds of his threadbare sleeves and dirt covered most of him. The man had yet to speak or make eye contact, a manner that began to infuriate Rhys.

  “What kind of priest are you?” Rhys’ voice was a growl. “You do not look like any priest I have ever seen. Where did they find you?”

  Suddenly, the man’s head came up and he removed the hood that shrouded most of his face. His was pale, with a long jaw and big nose. But when he focused on Rhys, the knight’s agitated manner abruptly fled. He took a curious step closer to get a better look, his manner filled with burgeoning disbelief.

  “You,” Rhys hissed before the man could speak. “I know you. Aren’t you…?”

  The priest cut him off with a finger to the lips. “I serve Prince Conrad,” he whispered, his pale blue eyes fixed on Rhys’ astonished brilliant ones. “I am here with Sir David.”

  Rhys was usually very good at keeping his composure, but at the moment, all he could feel was incredulous surprise. “David is here?” he repeated with shock.

  Geist eyed the door to make sure the jailors weren’t listening, holding his hands up to remind them to keep their voices down. “We have no time for explanations. David is outside dressed as a king’s soldier and I am here as a priest. We were trying to figure out a way to save you and…,” he lifted his slender shoulders in a helpless gesture. “Well, here I am.”

  Rhys was trying not to gape at the man. As he struggled for words, Elizabeau rose and went to him, eyeing him disbelievingly.

  “My God,” she whispered in awe. “Is this true? Who are you?”

  “My name is Geist, my lady.”

  “How in the world did you manage to get in here?”

  Geist looked at the lady; she was pale from the chill of the vault, but it only gave her a more ethereal, porcelain appearance. She was quite beautiful and he took a moment to study the woman they were all risking their lives for.

  “It was a risk we took, my lady,” he said honestly. “We were not sure what we would find.”

  Elizabeau struggled to swallow away her amazement. “You would find me in prison,” she murmured ironically. “And Rhys. We are in this hell together. But why did you come? Did the prince send you to save me?”

  “He sent me, my lady, but not with the purpose of saving you,” he replied. “I was sent to follow Lawrence and David was sent to follow me. We were looking for each other.”

  It didn’t make much sense, but the man’s accent was so heavy and his English so broken that it wasn’t surprising. Elizabeau looked questioningly at Rhys, who had gathered his composure enough to shut his agape mouth and attempt to decipher what Geist was saying. His gaze moved between Elizabeau and the Teutonic knight as he realized what the man was telling them.

  “You were following Lawrence?” he asked quietly.

  Geist nodded. “Aye. I saw him ride to this place. Have you seen him?”

  Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you think I am here?” he rumbled. “He has been the betrayer in our midst all along and told the fortress commander exactly why I was here. The man knows everything that de Lohr knows and now, I am sure, so do the king’s men. I am slated for execution along with the lady at sunrise.”

  “Where is Edward?” Elizabeau asked Geist. “We have not seen him since we were discovered. Do you know where he is?”

  Geist was vaguely aware of the English knight who had come to Lioncross and told them of the lady’s predicament. Again, he shook his head. “I have not seen him,” he said, looking back to Rhys. “David does not know that I have found you but I will speak with him when we are finished. We are ready to aid your escape. Do you have a plan?”

  Rhys lifted both eyebrows. “Not at the moment, but now I see that we must be quick about forming one,” he was almost giddy with hope but reined himself in. He had to remain collected if they were all going to survive. “Your life will depend upon it, too. Is there anyone else with you?”

  “Just David.”

  “He needs to stay out of sight. Lawrence will recognize him, as he very well may recognize you.”

  “I will be careful.”

  Rhys eyed him. “You’ll have to be,” he said ominously, then paused as he shifted his focus. He had to think! “What weapons have you brought with you?”

  “Two crossbows,” Geist replied. “I also have a few daggers, as does David. He also has a broadsword, which I do not possess. It would not look right on a priest.”

  Rhys nodded, calmed to the point that his mind started working as it usually did, clearly and concisely. He was able to detach his emotion for the moment and look at their situation globally. Although their liabilities heavily outweighed their assets, a successful rescue could be accomplished. But there was no margin for error. He looked at Geist, his eyes boring into the man as the seconds of his life ticked away. More importantly, as the seconds of Elizabeau’s life ticked away. Even if he did not make it out of Ludlow, he had to insure that Elizabeau would.

  His heart began to thump, his hands to sweat. So very much was riding on his ability to formulate a viable plan as varying situations and their results began to flow through his mind. He weeded out the impossible and focused on the possible, all in a matter of a few seconds. That was the speed with which his brain worked. Things became clearer as he suddenly crossed himself and knelt before Geist. He knew what he had to do.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he muttered, nodding his head at Elizabeau for her to do the same. When she knelt beside him, her green eyes wide with hope and terror, he lifted his face to Geist. “Will you hear my confession?”

  Geist nodded slowly, bending over the massive knight so that his confession would not be heard by the jailors beyond the door. To those looking it, it would indeed appear as a simple confession by a condemned man.

  It was the confession of a plan.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Promptly at dawn, Lewis appeared at the cell door and quietly had the sergeant open it. When the door shifted open, grating against the uneven stone floor, Lewis and several guards moved into the cell. The men were heavily armed, prepared for a battle of epic proportions with the enormous knight. They weren’t about to take any chances.

  But Rhys wasn’t poised to strike as they entered the cell. He sat against the far wall of the cell with Elizabeau in his arms, who was sleeping quite peacefully. When Rhys saw Lewis and the soldiers entering the hall, his expression flickered with pain but just as quickly stilled. Lewis didn’t say a word; he simply gazed at Rhys and finally at the sleeping lady. Rhys saw where the man’s attention moved and he, too, gazed down at Elizabeau. He knew what the silent implication was. It was time to go. With a faint sigh, one of defeat, he kissed her forehead and gently shook her.

  “Angel,” he murmured. “Wake up.”

  She stirred and he shook her again, watching her dark green eyes flutter open. She focused on him, smilingly sleepily until she realized that someone else was in the cell with them. She could hear the mail grating. With a start, she sat up and bashed Rhys on the chin in the process.

  He didn’t flinch as he steadied her, but Elizabeau’s eyes were wide on the men in the cell. They were loaded for battle, breathing death with every gasp. Beyond the door, she could see a hint of morning glow and her eyes widened.

  “Nay,” she breathed, then a pathetic moan welled up in her throat as she turned to Rhys. “Nay, it cannot be time. It must not be time yet.”

  He didn’t reply; in truth, there was nothing he could say. He rose to his feet and took her with him. But she would not stand on her own. She threw her arms around his neck in terror.

  “This cannot be,” she was very quickly rising to hysteria. “I do not want to die. I do not want you to die. Please, no!”

  Rhys remained stoic as he scooped her up into his arms and held her close to comfort her
in their last minutes of life. Lewis, watching the scene, seemed moderately sober as he spoke.

  “Put her on her feet,” he instructed quietly. “She will walk to her destination.”

  Rhys eyed the man, sighing heavily. “Let me take her out of here and put her to stand once we reach the bailey. Surely it will not harm anything to allow me to hold her one last time.”

  Lewis didn’t want to get into a big tussle, not now when the end was so near. The lady was distraught but du Bois was remarkably holding himself together. Lewis was content so long as the big knight was calm, so he nodded curtly and turned to lead them out of the cell.

  A dozen heavily armed soldiers escorted Rhys and Elizabeau from the vault to the bailey beyond. The feel of doom was everywhere, filling the very air they breathed. With every step it grew heavier and heavier. Even the soldiers seemed subdued and quiet. As they reached the bailey, Rhys finally set Elizabeau on her feet but she collapsed into the dust.

  “Nay,” she wept pitifully. “I do not want to die. I do not want to!”

  Rhys reached down to pick her up again but half a dozen swords were suddenly in his face. As he put his hands up in surrender, two soldiers took Elizabeau by the arms and hauled her to her feet.

  “Rhys!” she screamed, begging for him to save her.

  But he could not. The expression on his face was indescribable as he focused on her; a world of pain and longing filling the brilliant blue eyes even though his overall manner continued to remain stoic.

  “Elizabeau,” he said in a strong, yet strangely tight voice. “Calm yourself, angel. I do not want my last memory of you to be of screams and tears. Do you hear me? Be a good girl and stop crying.”

  Elizabeau was struggling; that much was evident. She was trying so very hard to be brave but could not seem to master it. She focused on Rhys, his handsome face, and labored to stop the tears.

  “I… I am trying,” she swallowed hard, summoning courage. “I will try.”

  He smiled faintly. “My sweet angel. That’s a good girl.”

  He watched her face as two soldiers suddenly pulled his hands behind his back and tied off his wrists. He knew what that meant; he would be the first one to the block. But as he stood there, mentally preparing himself, he watched Lewis move to Elizabeau and take her by the arm. It wasn’t a harsh move, nor was it gentle; it was simply a task.

  “I will not tie your hands if you give me your word that you will not resist,” he said to her. “I should not like to have to restrain you. It’s simply not proper.”

  She swallowed again, her hysteria fading, as she looked into the man’s pale face. “I… I will not resist,” she murmured. “But… but I should like to kiss Rhys one last time, if I may. I promise that I shall go quietly if you will simply allow me this last mercy.”

  Lewis almost refused her. But he could look into the deep green eyes and see a lady of beauty and wisdom and strength. He’d seen that from the beginning of their association those months ago. In truth, he was rather disgruntled by this entire event but he was following orders. He was doing his duty, distasteful though it might be.

  He saw no harm in her request and took her gently by the arm to lead her over to Rhys, several feet away. He stood back as Elizabeau, now calm, focused on the massive knight.

  There were a million unspoken words in the air as Elizabeau gazed deeply into the brilliant blue eyes, feeling the familiar emotion wash over her. He was such a wonderful man, so wise and honest. She was more smitten with him now than she was the first time she realized she felt something for him. Time had only increased those feelings. Although she knew their lives hung in the balance and she knew that this day could easily see one of them leaving the other in death, all that seemed to matter was this moment in time where they were lost in each other’s eyes. She could see, feel or hear nothing else but him.

  “I will only love you more beyond this life,” she put her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to his lips. She kissed him with painful tenderness, trembling, a lingering kiss that for all intents and purposes was to be their last. “There is only happiness for us, my darling. No pain, no sorrow. Only happiness.”

  He responded to her kiss, feeling tears sting his eyes. When her lips brushed his cheeks, he thought he might lose his carefully held composure. But he had to remain strong for what was to come, the hazardous undertaking they were about to follow. All he cared about was her safety. But at this moment, all he wanted to do was wallow in the deep love and devotion that was flowing between them. He could literally inhale it and feed off of it. It gave him strength.

  “I love you,” he murmured, his lips against hers once more. “With all that I am, I love only you in this life or any other.”

  She pulled back, smiling bravely at him and he nearly came undone. But he fought it. This is not the end, he told himself. This is not the end!

  “Until we meet again, then,” she kissed him one last time, touched his cheek, and moved back to where Lewis was standing. She was trying so hard to be brave but it was difficult. Resolutely, she squared her shoulders. “Do what must be done.”

  Lewis’ gaze lingered on her and if one looked closely, there was some sorrow there. The red-haired knight nodded faintly to the men surrounding Rhys, who suddenly grabbed him and kicked out the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel. Someone threw a rope around his neck to restrain him. As Elizabeau watched with concern, Lewis suddenly took her by the arm.

  “This way, my lady,” he said quietly.

  It was then that they both realized that Elizabeau would be the first one to go to the block. She was startled at first but admirably steeled herself. She didn’t dare look back at Rhys, terrified of what she would see in his eyes. She didn’t want to see him come undone. She had to stay strong.

  “I am ready.”

  The block they had built was about a dozen yards away, lodged in the shadow of the great keep that was now soaring into the cold light of dawn. Elizabeau walked towards it with her back straight, somewhat in a daze of what was actually happening but knowing that somewhere, somehow, David and Geist were going to save her life. It gave her strength knowing that intervention was about to happen. But she was still rightly petrified, especially when she saw a familiar face lingering near the block.

  Lawrence was waiting for her. A man who had once sworn to protect her now looked at her emotionlessly, as if she meant nothing. Even as she laid her head upon the great oak block that had seen more than one execution, she expected a miracle. She prayed for it. But God, Geist, David and the miracle would have to hurry.

  Time had run out. Lawrence lifted his sword. And then….

  The first arrow hit Lawrence in the back. As he lurched sideways, the second one hit him in the ribs just below his right arm. He pitched sideways and his sword clattered to the ground as Elizabeau shrieked, realizing her head was still intact. But a split second of shock gave way to a grinding sense of self-preservation and she bolted to her feet, turning to see Lawrence writhing on the ground several feet away.

  His sword was a few feet away and she swooped on it, taking the very sharp and heavy weapon in two hands. She almost dropped it the first time from sheer nerves but managed to get a hold of it on the second try. About the time she turned in Rhys’ direction, she could see two arrows hitting the men around him and Rhys exploded to his feet like a mad man. Elizabeau dashed in his direction with several soldiers in pursuit.

  The bailey decayed into chaos as more arrows began to fly. Lewis was hit in the shoulder but it was not a bad wound; he rushed at Rhys as the man threw off his captors, still bound, still with the rope around his neck. But Lewis had his sword up and drawn, his intentions toward Rhys obvious. Rhys could not defend himself, but he could evade the man’s frontal onslaught. As he bolted in Elizabeau’s direction, Lewis moved to cut him off and, out of desperation, Rhys hit the ground with the intention of rolling into Lewis’ shins and taking his feet out from under him. But Elizabeau saw what was happening and
, having no idea what Rhys was doing, panicked and took the heavy sword in her hands and heaved it with all of her might at Lewis.

  It flew through the air awkwardly, flipping end over end. Lewis never saw the spinning blade coming; he only knew what had happened when it sailed straight into his neck and lodged there. The man collapsed in a heap, his head half-severed by the extremely sharp blade. More arrows flew overhead as Elizabeau reached Rhys and the dying Lewis. She nearly fell atop Rhys as she struggled to untie his hands.

  “Are you all right?” he ripped his hands free of the bindings as they came loose. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  She shook her head as he wrenched the sword out of Lewis’ neck and turned to her. “Nay,” she gasped, terrified of all of the men running around them. But her gaze inevitably fell on Lewis, the man she had half-killed. She felt ill at the sight of him. “You cannot leave him like this. You must help him.”

  Lewis’ eyes were open, gazing up at the lady and her knight. He was beyond any help. “Be… merciful, du Bois,” he mumbled thickly. “Be swift.”

  Rhys gazed down at the man emotionlessly. “For the courtesy you have shown the lady and me, I will ensure that you feel no pain.”

  Lewis simply closed his eyes in response. Pushing Elizabeau out of the way, Rhys stood up and the blade sailed over his head. Elizabeau turned away as it came down, finishing what she had started and severing Lewis’ neck from his body. Elizabeau kept her back to the scene; she couldn’t bear to look. As Rhys put his massive arm around her in preparation for fleeing, a body suddenly came flying out at them with a crossbow in hand and Rhys leveled the sword in the man’s direction.

  “Wait!” David shouted, pulling off the wrap that was around his head, disguising him. “It’s me!”