Christopher went to her and kissed her, trying not to get snow on her. “Greetings, sweetheart,” he said as he kissed her again. “How are you feeling?”
She rubbed her pregnant belly. “Ready to give birth at any time,” she didn’t want to stray off the subject. “David said you located the lady at Ludlow Castle. Is it true?”
Christopher nodded, eyeing Rhys as the man lumbered past him, heading into the hall. “We have talked to two people who have personally seen her inside the walls,” he said. “I find it hard to believe she was so close to us all this time, but I am relieved to have finally found her. At least now we can make plans on how to retrieve her.”
“What are you going to do?”
He wriggled his eyebrows. “Gather reinforcements and lay siege. Now that we know where she is, we want her back.”
His gaze moved over her head as if he were watching something. Dustin caught his expression and she turned to watch as Rhys headed straight for the big pitchers of ale on the table. He didn’t even take a cup; grabbing a pitcher, he began to gulp the ale.
“He drinks far too much,” Dustin said softly. “You must not let him destroy himself so.”
Christopher wriggled his eyebrows. “I cannot stop the man. He makes his own choices.”
“But he is distraught,” she insisted. “At least you could try and help him. He is eaten away by guilt and anguish.”
“I am afraid he may be beyond help.”
“Then if you won’t do something, I will.”
Christopher had had this conversation with her too many times before. Rhys had not been the same man since the day Elizabeau was abducted from Caldicot; the normally professional, obedient and congenial knight had become a dark shadow of his former self. He rarely slept, he ate in spurts, and when he wasn’t searching the countryside for clues to the lady’s whereabouts, he was working off his guilt and excess emotion by hours upon hours of sword practice. And when that became too much for him, he would chop wood. Hours upon hours of chopping wood. He had so much chopped wood at Lioncross that Christopher was positive they wouldn’t need any more for the next full year.
The transformation of Rhys had been astonishing. He had rippling muscle upon rippling muscle, the strength of Samson flowing through his veins. He was a very big man to begin with but over the past three months, he had become positively massive. He didn’t shave, or cut his hair, and he rarely bathed. But above that, he had become inordinately mean. No more joy in his expression, no more dry humor in his words. Even his brother could not break him from his mood, which had turned Rod into a brooding bear at times. But it was because he was so deeply concerned for his brother. He was not the man he knew and loved.
Dustin knew all of this, as did her husband. She had known Rhys for a few years and liked him very much. He was kind, chivalrous and wise. She couldn’t stand to see him like this. As her husband shook his head at her, she ignored him and made her way over to where Rhys was downing his second pitcher of ale.
“I have been told that the lady has been located,” she said pleasantly enough, smiling timidly when his bright blue eyes focused on her. “It should be little time before we are able to get her back.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow and took another long drink. “We shall see, my lady.”
Her smile faded as she watched him drain the second pitcher. “Rhys,” she said slowly. “May I speak with you?”
He tossed the pitcher aside and looked for another. “What about, my lady?”
She sighed as he collected a third pitcher. His disinterest in her conversation fed her boldness. Lady Dustin was, if nothing else, unafraid to speak her mind. “Frankly, about you. What are you doing to yourself?”
He paused with the pitcher halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
She lifted an eyebrow at him, gesturing to his form in general. “Exactly what I said. What happened to the polite man who has served my husband all of these years? Who is this stranger who has invaded my home and scared my children? My girls used to love you, Rhys. You were like an uncle to them. Now they cry when you pass by them and do not speak to them. They are heartbroken.” She took a step towards him, gazing up into his stone-like expression. “What are you doing to yourself?”
Nearly everyone within earshot heard her question, especially Rod. He watched his brother closely for an explosion, prepared to protect the very pregnant Lady de Lohr from the man’s rage. In these dark days, Rhys’ mind was very brittle. The slightest thing could set him off. Rod held his breath and waited.
But Rhys didn’t react immediately. He peered at Dustin as if he did not understand her question. Then, he shook his head.
“There is nothing the matter with me,” he said evenly. “I am performing my duties as an obedient knight. I serve your husband flawlessly.”
Dustin sighed sadly. “Of course you are the perfect knight. No one is questioning that. But… but you drink to excess, you work yourself to the bone with weapon practice and all of that damnable wood chopping, and you do everything you can to avoid being friendly to people. That is not the Rhys du Bois I have known for almost six years. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
His expression was like stone. “If I perform all that is required of me, how I conduct myself is no one’s business but my own.”
Dustin would not back down. “I see,” she said, her sadness turning into irritation. “And is any of this helping you get the lady back? Is any of this snarling behavior making your friends and colleagues rush to your aid to help you gain her freedom?”
She was crossing the line. Christopher moved closer to her, eyeing Rhys as he did so. He couldn’t honestly believe that Rhys would lash out at her, but then again, Rhys had behaved very strangely over the past three months. Christopher could see Rod on the other side of his brother and the two of them exchanged tense glances.
But Rhys did nothing more than take a long drink of ale and sit down at the long dining table, his back to Dustin. Rod sat down beside him, wanting to be near his brother, wanting to help him somehow. He knew Lady Dustin was trying to snap some sense into him. They’d all tried at one time or another. But Dustin wasn’t finished; she moved up behind Rhys from the opposite side of the table, gazing into the back of his helmed head.
“If I were you, I would think about what I was doing to myself,” she said in a low voice. “You are not helping anyone by behaving this way. You’re only making a bad situation worse. We know you are guilt-ridden and we know you are heartbroken. We’re all heartbroken, Rhys. But going the way you are, Lady Elizabeau isn’t going to even recognize you. Is that what you want? To be a stranger to her?”
The pitcher suddenly went sailing, crashing into the wall above the hearth and spraying ale all over the men standing near the flames. Dustin shrieked with fright but Rhys was already on his feet, halfway across the floor and heading to the door. Christopher stood between his wife and the knight, watching him go and feeling a good deal of sorrow for the big man. When Rhys disappeared through the door that led to the bailey, Christopher cast his wife a reproachful gaze before casually following.
Rhys had gone to the stables. It wasn’t difficult to track his footprints in the snow. Christopher found him just inside the door, adjusting the blanket on his charger. He seemed to be very busy at it, but during this time, Rhys seemed to be very busy at everything he did. He was constantly moving as if fearful that if he stopped, the emotions he was trying so hard to stay in control of would finally catch up and swamp him. Christopher came up behind him, watching him fidget with a strap.
“I will apologize for my wife,” he said in a quiet voice. “She is a sassy wench in the best of times and pregnancy makes it worse. I am sorry if she overstepped herself.”
Rhys didn’t acknowledge him for a moment. Then, his movements slowed to the point of stopping altogether. In a very rare display of relaxation, perhaps surrender, he leaned heavily on the horse.
“She reminds me of her,” he muttered.
“Who?”
“Elizabeau,” Rhys turned to look at him, the brilliant blue eyes dull. “Lady Dustin reminds me of Elizabeau. Their personalities are almost identical.”
Christopher smiled weakly. “Then God help us all,” he sobered, eyeing Rhys for a long moment. “I remember seeing an example of that at Hyde House. Do you recall? When I was trying so desperately to remove the two of you from London and she put up such a battle? I would have liked to have spanked her for that show of resistance but… well, I folded like an idiot. I was glad that she was your problem and not mine.”
Rhys was staring at the horse’s back. A smile spread across his lips as he remembered the memory de Lohr had just painted. “There were times I wished she was someone else’s problem, too. She was insolent, sassy, disagreeable and belligerent. And that was just the first day. But after that….”
He trailed off, shaking his head as his smile faded. Christopher could feel the mood sinking again.
“Rhys,” he said in a low voice. “I know that Dustin does not understand what is in a man’s heart at times. She sees it from a woman’s point of view. She does not understand how something like this can destroy a man far more than weapons or warfare ever could. God knows, I have no idea how I would react if something happened to my wife. I cannot say that I would not crumble. But I am asking you, not only as your liege, but as your friend, to hold yourself together. We need your strength if we are going to retrieve the lady from her prison.”
Rhys chewed his lip in thought a moment before turning to Christopher. “Do you know what is making me the most miserable?” he said, his guard failing completely. “The fact that even when we retrieve her, it is only to hand her over to another man. I do not even get the pleasure of a reunion. I will save her from one prison only to turn her over to another.”
Christopher stared at him, trying not to show how much sympathy he had for the situation. “You have been a full-fledged knight since you were seventeen years old,” he rumbled. “You know the knightly code of honor and duty better than anyone. You knew when you took this mission that the lady was to remain a task and nothing more. You broke with that code and brought about your own misery. I hate to be cruel, Rhys, but you know it’s true. There is nothing any of us can do about it.”
“Perhaps I can help,” came a voice from the barn entry.
Both Christopher and Rhys turned to see Conrad entering the dim, warm stable. With him was one of his generals, the tall blond man who seemed to command the rest. But he stood back as Conrad moved into the barn and smiled timidly at the men. He knew that he was intruding but he also knew that he must. He had known for months about the situation between his intended, whom he had never even met, and this colossal knight with the brooding countenance. He had, in fact, worked with Rhys for the past three months and had found him to be the most efficient knight he had ever seen. Never once did he blame the man for his lady’s abduction. None of them did. In fact, he felt a great deal of sympathy for him and it had taken him a very long time to summon the courage to speak about it. Now seemed to be that time.
“I am sorry for intruding,” he said in his thick accent. “But I must sprechen sie. Speak. Ich muss sprechen.”
Christopher spoke first. “What about, my lord?”
Conrad was looking at Rhys. “The lady,” he said. “I… I feel the same as Sir Rhys does, only I feel it for someone else.”
Rhys struggled to get past his sense of animosity for the man; it was difficult to look at him and not feel overwhelming bitterness and hatred. “What do you mean?”
Conrad took a few timid steps towards Rhys, his pale face serious. “I know that you are in love with Lady Elizabeau,” he spoke such poor English that it was difficult to understand him. “I only wish to help so that we are all happy. I am in love with your sister.”
That admission propelled Rhys off the back of the horse and he stood straight, his brilliant blue eyes blazing. Startled by his reaction, Christopher put a hand against the man’s chest to prevent him from charging the frail prince.
“You’re in love with my…?” Rhys’ shock turned to rage. “Why in the hell would you tell me that? I swear, by all that is holy, if you have taken advantage of her, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Conrad could see that his admission wasn’t having the desired effect. He was terrified at the man’s huffing reaction and he took several steps back, putting his hands up in an attempt to ease him.
“Ich habe sie nicht berührt,” he said hurriedly, then swallowed and struggled to translate. “I… I have not touched her. I would not do that. I tell you all because I feel for Carys as you feel for Elizabeau. I do not want to marry Elizabeau. I want to marry Carys.”
Rhys’ huffing came to a strangled and abrupt halt. Even Christopher looked at the young prince in surprise. Rhys stared at the man as his fury began to die.
“You want to marry my sister?” he repeated. Then he looked confused. “You are not making any sense. How is this helping?”
Conrad did not speak plain enough English to adequately get his point across. He sighed with frustration, wringing his hands as he tried to think through his words.
“I am told that Lady Elizabeau has red hair,” he said.
Rhys was even more confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Does she?”
The knight eyed him, nodding slowly. “She does.”
“And your sister has red hair.”
“Aye, she does. And your point?”
Conrad sighed again and began making odd, roundabout gestures with his hands. “Wir schalten sie. Schalter. Change.”
Rhys still wasn’t following but, suddenly, the light of understanding went on in Christopher’s eyes. He entered the conversation with a manner that was both suspicious and disbelieving.
“Are you suggesting that we switch the women, my lord?” he asked.
Conrad looked at him and made the strange hand gestures again. “Schalter. Change. Trade.”
Christopher looked struck. “Are you saying you want to exchange the Lady Elizabeau for the Lady Carys?”
Conrad nodded so hard that his blond hair flipped over his eyes. “Ja, ja. I will marry Carys and he will marry Elizabeau. They both have red hair so no one will know different.”
Christopher’s jaw dropped. “You must be mad.”
Conrad looked hurt. “Nein, my lord. Not many people have seen Lady Elizabeau. Not many people have seen Carys. No one will know different since they both have red hair.”
Until this point, Rhys was standing in complete shock. He could not believe what he was hearing. His first reaction was the same as Christopher’s, but as he thought on it, he suddenly began to feel as if the heavens were opening up and the blinding light of God was shining directly upon him, giving a clear understanding of what was being suggested. It was a brilliant scheme. It gave him hope. Still, he could hardly comprehend it.
“But…,” he came away from Christopher’s still upstretched hand. “Elizabeau’s hair is not the same shade of red; it is more golden. Carys’ is very red. Moreover, they have differently colored eyes. Carys’ are brown, Elizabeau’s are green. They do not look much alike.”
Conrad looked at him and Rhys could see the same longing he himself felt. The man is in love with Carys yet searching for a woman he does not want to marry. It struck Rhys like a bolt and he literally stumbled. He was astonished.
“My people have never seen Elizabeau,” Conrad said softly. “They would not know any different. How many people in England would know the Lady Elizabeau on sight? I think no one will know one red-haired woman from the other.”
Rhys and Christopher stared at the young prince. Christopher eventually turned away and wandered a few feet to collect his thoughts. But Rhys stood there with his heart pounding in his throat.
“This is not merely about Elizabeau,” he said hoarsely. “This is also about my sister. You are speaking of two women I love dearly and
I do not want to see either one unhappy. How does Carys feel about you?”
Conrad smiled and his pale cheeks gained a bit of color. “She adores me as I adore her. We are very happy together, your sister and I. She cried when I left to come and find Elizabeau. It was very difficult for me to leave her.”
Rhys thought about his young sister, so lovely and bright. He began to think about her as a consort for a prince, posing as the bastard daughter of Geoffrey of Brittany. Then, as suddenly as hope for the situation had come, it was dashed just as swiftly by dark, horrible thoughts.
“If she poses as Elizabeau, she will have to live in fear of assassins for the rest of her life,” he felt his veins run cold. “She will be thrown into the political arena without any knowledge of what she is truly getting in to. She’ll be food for wolves and I cannot, in good conscience, knowingly allow that. She is my baby sister.”
Christopher turned to look at him from several feet away. “It is a foolish idea, Rhys. There is no way that I, as a member of the court and English nobility, could knowingly allow what the prince is suggesting. It would be treason of the highest degree. Moreover, you forget that de Burgh has seen Lady Elizabeau. He will know the deception immediately.”
Conrad moved towards Rhys, his fair face desperate. “But this is for the good of everyone,” he pleaded. “Your sister knows who I am. I have already told her of this plan and she has agreed. I will protect her from those who would seek to do her harm; I have very good men that will see to her safety. And you… you could marry Elizabeau and come back with us to Saxony. You would be able to see to the protection of your sister if you did and Lady Elizabeau could serve as my wife’s lady. Do you not see this? It is a perfect plan. It is only right that we marry the women that we love!”
Fathers and Sons Page 22