England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “You will marry your prince and rule England.”

  She was silent a moment, struggling with the return of her tears. “Rhys.…”

  “No,” he said shortly, with quiet firmness. “I would suggest you stop wishing for what can never be. We both must.”

  “But.…”

  “No.”

  “Stop telling me that,” she hissed at him, blinking rapidly to chase off her tears. “You do not even know what I am going to say.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “That… that at least for the next few days, can we simply forget that I have a destiny and you have a mission?”

  He stopped abruptly and faced her. His massive hands gripped her arms as he forced her to look at him.

  “No,” he said, more strongly. “Believe me when I say that it gives me no pleasure to tell you that, but it is necessary. You must trust me, angel. To allow ourselves even a moment more of this heaven will only do us greater harm in the end. It will shatter you and devastate me. It will be hard enough watching you wed another without the added burden of pretending, even for a short while, that things between us are different. Do you understand that?”

  Elizabeau gazed at him steadily, knowing he was correct but hating with every fiber of her being to admit it. She finally closed her eyes and lowered her head.

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I understand. But the pain of that understanding is surely going to kill me.”

  He felt the same as she did but refrained from telling her; it would only make her feel worse. When she lowered her head, he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms to comfort her. Instead, he took her hand again and resumed their walk.

  “Then let us speak of other things,” he said, though his heart wasn’t in it. “You have not told me what kind of garments you would like for me to buy for you when I go into town.”

  She was silent a moment, daintily wiping at the tears in her eyes and watching the ground beneath her feet. “So your mother expects a grandchild right away, does she?” she teased gently.

  He looked at her, seeing a weak smile playing on her lips. He just shook his head, fighting off a grin and not entirely surprised that she wasn’t willing to let the subject of their relationship go so easily. But at least she wasn’t weeping any longer.

  “It will be a huge disappointment to her when I am forced to tell her that you and I are not really married,” he admitted.

  “It is a great disappointment to me, too.”

  “Elizabeau….”

  She waved him off, knowing what he was going to say. “I know, I know,” she took a deep breath and struggled to focus on something other than her breaking heart. “Your mother seems like a kind woman. She was very gracious and attentive to me last night. I do believe she has cured my cold single-handedly.”

  “She seems to like you a great deal,” Rhys said softly.

  She looked up at him, surprised. “She does? I’ve not truly spent any time speaking with her. How could she know?”

  “She just knows. You have a good character about you.”

  Elizabeau gazed up at him as they finished the remainder of their walk back to the manse. He glanced down at her now and again, seeing an expression on her face that made his entire body go weak. He didn’t want to give in to it, but it was difficult. He was trying to return to business as usual with her; he was her escort and she was his ward. But he knew, as he lived and breathed, that things would be different from this moment on. Every time he looked at her, his heart would be doomed.

  As they reached the front door of the manse, the panel suddenly opened and a short, dark-haired bear of a man walked out. He looked at Rhys with surprise, his round, ruddy face creased with a smile.

  “Rhys,” he said, his gaze moving between Rhys and Elizabeau. “Good to see you, lad. Your mother said you were home.”

  Rhys smiled and held out a hand, which the man took and shook heartily. “We arrived yesterday,” he released the man’s hand and indicated Elizabeau. “Renard, this is my wife, the Lady Julianna. My lady, this is my mother’s husband, Sir Renard de Titouan.”

  Elizabeau dipped in a slight curtsy. “My lord,” she greeted pleasantly.

  Renard focused on her intently; he had come from the house wiping his hands off with some kind of rag and he stood there and inspected her, still wiping his hands off. After a moment, he smiled broadly.

  “My God, she’s beautiful, Rhys,” he said with approval. “How did you come by such good fortune?”

  Rhys cast Elizabeau a long glance, wriggling his eyebrows as he did. “I do not know,” he said quietly. “I must have done something particularly good in my life to warrant such a reward.”

  Renard’s smile faded. “Nay, lad,” he stopped wiping his hands and looked at the man he had raised as his own son. “God is rewarding you for putting up with the first bitch you married. He has a good deal to make up to you.”

  Rhys’ expression morphed to stone as Renard headed in the direction of the barn, oblivious to the fact that he had upset Rhys with his careless words. Renard had never been one for much tact.

  “Your mother had me running all over the Wye Valley looking for the best price for our autumn harvest of vegetables,” Renard said as he walked, assuming Rhys and Elizabeau were following. “That is why I was not here to greet you yesterday. And you’ll be surprised to know that Rhett went with me. I was actually able to convince the man to leave the house.”

  Rhys and Elizabeau were still standing by the open manse door. Elizabeau leaned into Rhys.

  “Who is Rhett?” she whispered.

  “My crippled uncle,” he responded softly, then raised his voice to his mother’s husband, who was several feet away by now. “Where is Uncle Rhett?”

  “Inside, slapping his cane at Dylan.”

  Rhys lifted an eyebrow, taking Elizabeau by the elbow once again. “Then I had better go and save him,” he muttered.

  The manse was dim, smelling of fresh bread and rushes. It wasn’t particularly a luxurious home, but it was well appointed and comfortable. Elizabeau hadn’t seen too much of it when she had arrived yesterday and took the time to study her surroundings. The floors were stone on the first floor with heavy, uneven planking on the second floor and ceiling. A few servants milled about and the place was remarkably well-lit with large lancet windows that, in some cases, went floor to ceiling. The main hall had a few benches, two enormous chairs, and a massive table that was situation before the hearth. Dogs slept under the table and around it.

  Carys and Dylan were seated at the table along with an old man that Elizabeau had never seen before. Over near the hearth, Orlaith was attempting to keep Maddoc from falling into the fire as the lad begged for a piece of freshly baked bread. As Rhys and Elizabeau approached the table, the family turned towards them. The old man was the first one to speak.

  “Rhys!” he boomed. “Great Gods, where have you been keeping yourself? Dylan told me that you had returned but I accused him of lying.”

  Rhys was grinning as he walked up to the man, putting his massive hands on the old man’s shoulders and giving him a good squeeze. “He was not lying,” Rhys winked at Dylan across the table. “Do not always assume that Dylan is lying. He is a thief and a scoundrel, but he is not a liar.”

  Rhett de Llion snorted happily as his eldest nephew sat on the bench next to him. He looked at the man a moment, studying the strong features. “It’s been a long time, lad,” he finally said. “You look healthy enough. I worry about you, you know. You’re too involved in the king’s politics. You surround yourself with cutthroats and men of dubious character.”

  Rhys laughed softly. “Christopher de Lohr is not a man of dubious character.”

  Rhett waved him off. “I did not mean de Lohr. He’s as upstanding as any man. I’m talking about the king’s men. They’ll slit your throat as easily as talking to you. ’Tis all the same to them.”

  Rhys’ smile faded; he didn’t dare look at Elizabeau, still
standing by the end of the table. He finally patted the old man on his arm and gestured in Elizabeau’s direction.

  “Uncle, you’re going to scare my wife,” he said. “Meet the Lady Julianna.”

  Rhett turned his big bulk in Elizabeau’s direction and she could immediately see the family resemblance between Rhys and his mother and his uncle; Rhett had dark hair and brilliant blue eyes that were as sharp as the hot summer sky. In his youth, Rhett de Llion had been a very handsome man. Now he just looked old and heavy. But his eyes had lost none of their sharpness.

  “My lady,” he reached out and took her hand after a moment. “My nephew is indeed a very lucky man.”

  Elizabeau smiled, her eyes finding Rhys. “ ’Tis I who am the fortunate one, my lord.”

  Rhett grunted his approval. “I like a woman who knows her place,” he looked back at his nephew. “She’ll make a fine wife, Rhys. Not like that other one.”

  Rhys smile vanished entirely. He opened his mouth to reply but his mother rounded the corner at that moment with Maddoc in her arms and everyone’s attention was diverted, including Rhys. He resumed smiling at his son until his mother walked up to Elizabeau and extended the child to her.

  “My lady,” she said. “I do not believe you’ve had the chance to meet your son yet. This is Maddoc du Bois, Rhys’ son. He now belongs to you as well.”

  Elizabeau’s gentle expression became something of a grimace of shock. Lady Orlaith was extending the boy and for lack of a better reaction, Elizabeau simply reached out and took him. It was the first chance she’d had to get a good look at the boy and, for several long moments, they simply stared at each other. Maddoc had his father’s coloring exactly; nearly black hair and brilliant blue eyes. He was a gorgeous child and as Elizabeau struggled to say something to him, Rhys stood up.

  “Mother,” he admonished softly. “They have not even met. I’m not sure that was an appropriate introduction for either of them.”

  Orlaith was defiant in her reaction. “There is no harm in it. They must come to know each other sooner or later.” She moved away from the table, waving her hands at Carys as she went. “Come along, young woman. Lend a hand.”

  Carys dutifully rose and followed her mother from the hall. They could hear Orlaith in the kitchens beyond, gently barking orders to both her daughter and the servants. Rhys came to stand next to Elizabeau, watching the expression on her face and his son’s face. Neither one of them seemed particularly at ease and he took pity on them.

  “Here,” he held out his hands to the boy. “I’ll take him.”

  Elizabeau shook her head, still gazing at the child. “That is not necessary,” she set him down gently on the ground and took his little hand. “We shall become great friends, Maddoc and I.”

  Rhys looked at her, feeling a strange and unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He would have liked nothing better than for Maddoc and Elizabeau to become fond of each other. But it wasn’t a good idea, on many levels.

  “You do not have to…” he began.

  She cut him off, crouching beside Maddoc so she could look him in the eye. “Maddoc, do you like horses?”

  The child nodded hesitantly. “Aye.”

  “Would you like to go outside and see the horses?”

  He put a finger in his mouth, chewing. “Aye.”

  Elizabeau stood up and, with a lingering glance at Rhys, led Maddoc outside into the sunshine. Rhys started to follow but his uncle stopped him.

  “Help an old man to stand,” he commanded his nephew, who dutifully helped his uncle rise from the bench. Rhett grabbed the enormous cane that was propped against the side of the table. “Let us attend your new wife as she becomes accustomed to your child and we can speak more on things regarding London.”

  Rhys watched his uncle struggle with his gait; his walking was worse than he had remembered. Being injured in battle many years ago, coupled with a disease of the joints, had rendered the once-powerful man nearly immobile. But still, Rhett struggled through it with his usual resolve. The man was, if nothing else, determined.

  “Nothing much is happening in London,” Rhys said casually as they headed for the door. “I’m more interested to know what has happened around here.”

  Rhett snorted. “Nothing worth discussing,” he replied. “Carys had a suitor a few weeks ago, but Renard chased the lad off. He was just a peasant boy, but he adores Carys.”

  Rhys smiled weakly as they walked into the bailey, basking in the bright sunlight. “She is sixteen years now. Renard will have to come to grips with the fact that his only daughter must soon find a husband.”

  “Aye, but not a peasant boy,” Rhett scoffed. “Now, in my day, I had every noble woman in London pursuing me at one time or another. Most of them were trollops but a few were worth the effort.” He eyed Elizabeau in the distance, kneeling with Maddoc beside a patch of weeds on her way to the barn. “I would wager to say that your Lady Julianna was worth the effort, eh?”

  Lying to his family was one thing. But Rhett had been a great knight once and Rhys knew the man could keep a secret. In fact, he almost felt a burning desire to tell him, someone to help share this burden with him. He was becoming too emotionally involved and it would be wise, in his estimation, to have someone without emotional investment in the matter knowing the situation. Perhaps it would help him think more clearly.

  “She is worth every effort,” he muttered. “And she is not my wife.”

  Rhett looked at him, not particularly surprised. He knew his nephew was entrenched deep in the heart of England’s politics where things on the surface were not always what they appeared to be. He was perhaps the only person in the family aside from his brother Berwyn and Rhys’ brother, Rod, who truly understood that.

  “Who is she?” he asked quietly, nonchalantly.

  “She is the next ruler of England.”

  That bit of information received a reaction; Rhett’s eyebrows rose and he refocused on her.

  “Then why is she here, with you?” he asked.

  Rhys sighed heavily, his brilliant blue gaze never leaving the distant pair. “Because I am escorting her to rendezvous with her betrothed and the king’s assassins are everywhere. De Lohr thought this would be the safest place for her, somewhere that John would never think to look.”

  Rhett wriggled his bushy gray eyebrows. “Then you have had a time of it, I would imagine.”

  “More than you know.”

  Rhett looked at him, then. “I can hear it in your voice, lad. What more is there?”

  Rhys spilled out the entire tale. Rhett listened quietly, staring at the ground thoughtfully and never once reacting to anything he was told. Once or twice, he looked over at Elizabeau, still crouched by a cluster of grass and evidently attempting to explain something to Maddoc. When Rhys was finished, he continued to stare at the ground as he mulled over the situation. He leaned heavily on his cane, indicative of his level of thought and the burden of knowledge he had been given.

  “Well,” he finally said, lifting his gaze to meet Rhys. “You certainly have a situation on your hands. I never thought to hear such a thing coming from you. You were always our rock, Rhys. As strong, unbending and unmovable as one.”

  Rhys felt rather sick after explaining everything. He nodded faintly at his uncle, looking over to Elizabeau and Maddoc when the boy suddenly screamed with delight at something Elizabeau put in his hand. They realized it was a frog when it leapt out and began scampering across the dirt of the bailey with Maddoc and Elizabeau in pursuit. Rhys exhaled slowly and ran a weary hand through his dark hair.

  “I know what I must do,” he said quietly. “But it is not necessarily what I want to do.”

  Rhett was still leaning heavily on his cane, watching the toddler chase the frog. “You broke the cardinal rule of knighthood,” he muttered gently. “You fell in love with a lady you were only supposed to show knightly chivalry towards. You let your guard down; you allowed yourself to feel emotion rather than simple c
ompassion. You let her in.”

  Rhys looked at him, the wise old uncle he had always been attached to. He felt defeated, rebuked. “I know,” he couldn’t look the man in the eye. “The worst part is that she loves me as well.”

  “It does not matter. You have a mission, Rhys; she is your mission. That is all she can ever be.”

  Rhys heard his own words echoed in his uncle’s statement; he knew the truth of it with every breath he took. But it did not make the situation any easier. “I am supposed to wait here another week before taking her to Ogmore,” he said. “I do not want to take her at all, yet I want to take her there today and then run as fast as I can away from her. Does that make any sense?”

  Rhett snorted ironically. “It does indeed. Do you want my advice?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then my suggestion would be that you give this duty over to another, as soon as possible. The more time passes, the more difficult this will be for the both of you.”

  Rhys kicked at the ground. “I cannot give this over to anyone else and you know it,” he said quietly. “I would have to explain my reasons for doing so and I cannot do that.”

  Rhett was nodding his head before Rhys finished. More screaming caught his attention as the frog apparently leapt into the folds of Elizabeau’s surcoat and she was yelping as she tried to shake it free. Rhys and Rhett watched her dance about, grinning at her antics. Not only was she beautiful, but she was humorous as well.

  “I think it’s more than that,” Rhett said as his looked at his nephew, his eyes twinkling. “ ’Tis the simple fact that you do not want to turn her over to anyone else. But you have placed yourself in a dangerous position, Rhys. To spend more time with her will only deepen your feelings for her. And if you deflower the lady, then…”

  Rhys made a face and turned away. “Christ, do you have to be so vulgar about it?”

  “I am only stating what could be the natural progression of your feelings for her. What happens if she goes to her intended compromised? All eyes will turn to you and you will be in more trouble than you know. All of your service with de Lohr and de Burgh will be at an end. They will never trust you again.”