A Dishonorable Knight (42 page)

Gareth laughed. "Oh, no. He was
simply an incurable prankster. He was forever dressing up and
fooling—well, scaring, actually--the children at Eyri Keep. As soon as we
discovered that he had tricked us, we vowed to get even."

"What did you do?" she
asked, expecting a tale of humorous revenge.

Gareth sobered. "Actually
nothing. A few weeks later, Cynan's father fell from the parapets where he had
been working. He died within minutes."

"Oh," Elena said, feeling
sorry for the absent Cynan.

Gareth looked at her and smiled.
"'Tis no matter. It happened near twelve years ago and I'm sure he went to
his grave content that he got the last laugh on us."

Unable to stop herself, Elena yawned.

Gareth stood and banked the fire.
"Are you tired? Perhaps we should go to sleep. We have many a mile to
travel tomorrow."

"I'm not so very tired,"
Elena said.

Gareth paused in the act of putting
another log on the fire and looked at her. Though she seemed to be intently
concentrating on braiding her hair, he was certain her words meant something.

"No? Well, what should we do?
Shall I tell you of another of my childhood escapades?"

Elena flicked her braid behind her
back and looked boldly up at Gareth. "No."

Though no more words left her lips,
her eyes spoke volumes and Gareth obediently joined her in the warm bedding.

They were up early the next morning
and on the road by the time the sun cut its lazy path over the horizon. The air
held the brisk, pungent fragrance of the last days of summer when every flower
is in bloom, every leaf has unfurled, and the grass is at its tallest. Without
a second thought, Gareth packed
all of their
luggage
onto the shaggy horse he had purchased in Aberstwyth and settled them both onto
Isrid's broad back. Elena again wore Gareth's clothes, content to relinquish
her new gown for apparel infinitely more practical for traveling by horseback.

They chatted amiably throughout that
day, and throughout the week following as they made their way across England.
They were blessed with near-perfect weather, only suffering two days of rain as
league after league disappeared beneath Isrid's hooves. To fill the hours, they
told stories of their youth, shared dreams and
hopes
of their youth, and even admitted first loves and first broken hearts. In the
evenings, Elena helped Gareth unload the horses and gather firewood. She even
learned to boil water to soften their dried meat into a more palatable stew,
their hard sausage having run out on day two. At night, they curled close to
each other when the fire burned down to smoldering embers. If the nights grew
cold, the lovers did not notice, so intent were they on the other's body, their
own pleasure, and the heat they created.

Gareth would have been content to
spend the rest of his days traveling. Not once did he notice the food he ate,
the hardness of the ground on which he slept, or the discomfort of the
slow
, penetrating drizzle that doused them for two days.
Later, all he could remember of that trip was Elena pressed against him in the
saddle with his arm curled comfortably around her waist; her soft form in his
arms night after night; their hours of laughter and shared confidences; and his
marvel that she could have changed so much in two short months, going from
spoiled shrew to pleasing companion. The only thing that marred the journey for
him was the nagging voice in his head telling him he was a fool for remaining
silent, reminding him that he was wasting precious time by not telling her he
loved her, time that could be spent racing to Eyri Keep should her feelings
mirror his. But never in their enjoyable days or passionate nights had she
uttered one word of love, one word of encouragement that she desired any more
than they already had.

Elena was reveling in the novel
experience of saying and doing whatever she pleased with no worry as to how
decorous she looked or how ladylike she sounded. It was a remarkably liberating
feeling, she reflected, to be able to discuss with Gareth any topic that came
to mind and know that he would answer all her questions and ask her some in
return. Never once did he tell her that any of her comments were not befitting
a lady of the court, or that she should not concern herself with things more
suited to a man's brain. Elena had once thought the way she had coerced the men
of Richard's court to her will through flattery and flirtation was power. She
was now learning the power of using her own thoughts and ideas to change
Gareth's mind. Though she was eager to return to Richard's retinue, she was
torn. She loved the richness and the beauty of court with everyone on their
best behavior: jewels glittering, velvets rustling, musicians playing, incense-filled
braziers smoking. She loved dressing in a new gown to attend a sumptuous feast
where men toasted her beauty and laughter filled the hall. On the other hand,
she was dimly aware that she would not be able to act in
court
as she was able to here, in Gareth's company. She would have to return to being
a nodding hen wit when the king addressed her, smiling sweetly to his rich but
dusty old nobles who doddered around thinking they were ever so much more
attractive to the young ladies-in-waiting than their sons and grandsons who
were young and handsome and had all their teeth.

And then there was her fiancée. Of
all the strictures and ladylike rules she would have to obey again once she
stepped foot in Richard's court, meekly accepting the king's choice of her
future husband was the one she dreaded the most. She was growing miserably
certain that she would be unable to convince Richard to break off the
engagement at this late date. By now Richard must have already received arms
and the men to bear them from the earl's holdings. The king would be indebted
to Brackley for his support and his advice and he would not risk them in the
upcoming confrontation with Henry Tudor for the whim of a mere lady-in-waiting,
be she favorite or no.

All that considered, she continued to
fantasize about life at Eyri Keep. She thought of the evenings at Gareth's home
spent embroidering by the fire with Enid while Morgan and Gareth discussed
moving the flocks of sheep to a new pasture. She remembered the spontaneous
festivals that were held for things as common as the birth of a new child or
the successful harvest of a field of barley. On days when such an event had
occurred, the good news spread like wildfire throughout the small keep,
culminating in the kitchen where the three women who cooked for Morgan's
household tried to outdo each other with culinary specialties. As they drew
nearer to Nottingham and Richard's court, it became easier to imagine
herself
ensconced there permanently. Cynan had told her that
she could have her pick of husbands should she chose to return to Wales, but
Elena didn't want her pick; she wanted Gareth. Had he uttered one word of love
or one tentative proposal of marriage, they would now be heading away from
Nottingham, not toward it. But he remained silent, despite their most intimate
exchanges. She felt she had changed and grown much since becoming separated
from Richard's entourage all those weeks ago, but her pride would not permit
her to fish for avowals of love from him, though she had much experience doing
so.

And so they continued, each day
drawing nearer to Nottingham. By the time they were on the outskirts of the
city, a day's ride from the king's wartime residence, their conversation had
become stilted, each submerged in his thoughts and worries for the future, each
wishing the other would speak.

"You shall have a pillow for
your head tonight, sweet lady," Gareth said as they rode through the
southernmost streets of Nottingham.

Elena roused herself from her
thoughts and turned in the saddle. "We're not continuing on?" It was
only mid-afternoon and she had grown accustomed to riding until dusk allowed
just enough light to set up camp.

"No," Gareth answered.
"We'll have a short day of riding tomorrow as it is. There is no need to exhaust
ourselves
today especially when I have money enough
for a rich meal and a soft bed," he said, jingling the coins in their
leather pouch which hung from his belt.

"I want fish for supper,"
Elena said, sitting up a little straighter in the saddle.

"Fish?" Gareth asked,
wrinkling his nose.

"Yes, it's the meal most
different from dried beef!"

Gareth laughed. "You've been
eating dried mutton."

Elena turned her head and lifted an
eyebrow. "Do not even attempt to convince me that there is a difference
between the two."

Elena looked around at the small
shops and houses they were passing. As they made their way further into the
city, the small buildings grew closer and closer together until they were
stacked nearly on top of each other. Though she could sense Gareth growing
unease with the crowds and the shops, she was familiar with this city. She had
spent many hours attending Lady Elizabeth as they shopped for fabrics and furs.
Though
she had previously been attended by numerous guardsmen
and attendants
, Elena still felt comfortable as they entered the teeming
city.

"I suppose we will have to find
an inn soon," Gareth said, more to himself than Elena.

Taking charge, Elena said, "That
will be simple. There are several reputable inns very near each other."

Gareth sighed, obviously relieved
that he would not have to try to decide on their accommodations. "Very
good. Which way do we go?" He had reined in Isrid at a central marketplace
into which dumped at least five crooked streets.

"I have no idea."

"Then how do you know there are
several reputable inns in the same area?"

"I have spent much time in
Nottingham. When I was attending Lady Elizabeth, we would oftentimes rest in
the inns in between shopping bouts instead of returning to the castle."

"Well if you spent so much time
here doing what you do best, then how is it you have no idea where we should
go?"

"I will recognize the street
once we are on it," Elena said defensively.

"That doesn't do us much good
now, does it?"

Incredulous, Elena turned as much as
she could in the saddle. "Well then perhaps you'd like to find us a place
to stay, Sir I-don't-need-to-ask-for-directions!" Though it had been a
while since Elena had used one of her well-honed imperious looks, she managed
to execute it flawlessly and Gareth was squirming uncomfortably within seconds.

"Alright, I'll stop and ask
where this mythical street you remember is. Do you at least know the name of
the street?"

"Of course I do. Ask for West
Dover Street."

Gareth swung off of Isrid and handed
Elena the reins to both horses. He entered the shop nearest them, a solicitor's
office. As Elena waited, she became aware of the stares of passers-by. Glancing
down to see what they were looking at, she realized that she was still wearing
Gareth's clothes, which were much wrinkled after a week's wear. Dismayed, she
lifted her hand to her hair and found it equally mussed. Elena was mortified.
It was enough that she had spent the past weeks looking like a scullery maid.
Then she had at least an excuse. She had only her one gown and in it she had
been dragged through mountains, streams, and dirt. But now she had a clean new
gown sitting in her satchel while she was decked out like a stable boy! Sitting
up straight, Elena lifted her chin. No matter, she thought, trying to convince
herself. These people are still commoners at heart while I am a lady,
regardless of my appearance. Her upraised chin would tell them just that, she
decided, besides making it impossible for her to see their critical appraisal
of her. Thankfully, Gareth returned within the minute.  

"'Tis just a few streets
over," he said, taking both reins from her hands and leading the horses up
the street.

"Why are you walking?"
Somehow, she had thought the people's stares would not seem quite so unbearable
if Gareth were sitting behind her.

"My legs have about had it for
riding. I thought I would work out the kinks in them by walking. It's not so
very far."

Elena glanced surreptitiously from
side to side. Although the amount of people out on the street decreased as they
left the central market, she still felt as if she were on display sitting so
high up on Isrid. Without another thought, she threw her leg over Isrid's rump
and shimmied off of the warhorse's high back, landing awkwardly on the uneven
cobbled street. Gareth whirled around at her grunt as she landed.

"Elena, are you alright? What's
wrong?"

She straightened, trying to ignore
her throbbing ankle, which had landed in a pothole. "I believe I will
stretch my legs as well."

"You should have told me to stop
the horses. You could have hurt yourself."

I did, she thought. "I'm
fine," she said. "But let us hurry. I wish to bathe and change
clothes as soon as possible."

"Of course. And you will have
water as hot as you can stand it, that I promise."