Breath of Heaven (19 page)

“You’ve done that already?” Rhys asked. “How did you know?”

“Though you do foolish things at times, you are also most practical,” Lydia said. “It would only make sense that you would want your wife away from…er…this place.” She was suddenly at a loss for words.

“I know what Rhys wishes to protect me from,” Eliane said. “He told me of his dilemma this morning. And how I saved him from having to choose.”

“For which I am eternally in your debt,” Rhys replied in the same dry tone she used.

“William will take you to the house,” Lydia said, in total control of the situation. “Mathias can wait for your men and follow after.” She took Eliane’s arm. “You will find your wife in our chambers when you have the house ready for her.”

“I should go with my husband,” Eliane protested.

Yes…I want her with me. I can’t leave her here, not when Vannoy is so close.

“No,” Lydia said. “You are tired and you should rest.”

Peter shook his head. “You cannot fight Lydia,” he told Eliane. “She is determined to have you to herself and will not cease until she has her way.”

“Rhys?” Eliane turned to him.

He took her hand and pulled her aside. Peter and Lydia turned to each other, giving them some privacy. “Stay or go,” Rhys said. “I will leave it to you.”

She gave him a slight smile. “I find that I feel a need for the companionship of a woman.”

“You miss Madwyn.”

She nodded. “I do.” She looked at Lydia. “I think she would be my friend, and I believe I will need one.”

“Please take care,” Rhys said. “I do not trust Vannoy.”

“I have never trusted him,” she assured him. “And if you recall, I do have a knife in my boot.”

“This is not the forest of Aubregate,” he reminded her. “The king will not look kindly on your stabbing his vassals.”

“I will keep that in mind, husband.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I hope that the house has a bath.”

He felt like clay in her hands. “I will make sure that it does,” he said. Even if he had to search every house in London to find one and give over every coin he possessed. He watched her go, hand in hand with Lydia.

Marcella
…She approached Eliane and Lydia as they made for the stairs. He took a step.

“She is most capable of fighting her own battles.” Peter put a hand on his arm. “You cannot protect her from all, so choose to protect her from those that are most dangerous.” With his chin he pointed to the side, where Vannoy stood watching.

“I will kill him.”

“Yes, you will. But not this day.” Peter clasped an arm over his shoulder. “It seems Lydia has forgotten
all about me. Let us go see this house she has found. I am certain it will be expensive, but worth every coin you are about to part with.”

Renauld couldn’t care less that Rhys de Remy looked at him as if he wanted to kill him.

At the moment Renauld only had eyes for one thing, and that was Eliane of Aubregate, who now happened to be the wife of Rhys de Remy.

Enjoy it while you can.
…It had taken every bit of forebearance he possessed to keep from pulling his sword and plunging it through de Remy’s heart when he’d walked into the great hall with Eliane on his arm. It would be a much quicker means to his ends than waiting for the king to take care of it.

He watched Eliane walk away with Salisbury’s pregnant cow of a wife. Mayhap he could get her alone. De Remy and Salisbury left, along with their squires, and he turned to see that Eliane and Salisbury’s wife were talking with a woman.

He moved toward them.
Not talking…arguing?
A crowd gathered around the three women. It enabled him to get close enough to hear what was being discussed.

“He will return to me,” the blonde said with a toss of her head. She barely came to Eliane’s breastbone.
Eliane is of a size with me, if not taller…not that it will matter when I’m done with her. I will take off her feet and make her crawl.
His plans for Eliane consumed his thoughts of late. Renauld moved about the crowd so he could see who it was that challenged his intended bride.

“Why should he, Marcella?” Salisbury’s wife asked.
“He had an opportunity to choose you as a wife and still he sought one elsewhere.”

“ ’Twas a trick played on him. By her father. Or mayhap by her.” Marcella stared at Eliane. “She cast a spell on him. One that hides her true self so that none may see her deformity.”

“I assure you, I am no different from anyone here.” Eliane’s voice was calm, but Renauld could not help noticing how her fingers caressed the hilt of the ornamental dagger she wore on her hip. Was she as skilled in its use as she was with her bow? That would make things even more interesting once she came into his…care.

“I have no desire to war with you, especially over things that came to pass before I even met my husband,” Eliane continued. “Peace be with you. I will pray that someday you find the same contentment in marriage as I.”

Eliane and Salisbury’s wife moved to the wide staircase. The blonde remained behind, seething with anger. Renauld tried to recall what he knew about her.

She likes it rough
…That was the rumor he’d heard. Renauld was certain her idea of rough was much milder than his, but there could be a connection to build on. Quickly he moved around until he stood behind her.

“Mayhap what she hides is beneath her headpiece,” he whispered into Marcella’s ear, then moved on before she could turn and identify him.

With a determined step, Marcella flew up the stairs after the two women and wrenched the linen from Eliane’s head with a shriek. She held it up as if she’d won a token on the field.

Eliane’s hair, which had been in a single braid down
her back, came loose and flew about her head as she turned with her knife now in hand. She held it to Marcella’s chin and backed the woman against the banister.

Look at her ears
…He saw the peaks of them peeping through her hair, but no one was looking there. Instead they watched the point of the blade as it moved to Marcella’s neck. The woman whimpered as she leaned as far away from the threat as the banister would allow.

“Touch me again and you will not live long enough to regret it,” Eliane said. “And the same goes for my husband. As for that thing—” She looked in disdain at the headpiece, which Marcella held clutched to her breast like a shield. “I have no further use for it. Consider it a gift.”

“Magnificent!” he said as she continued up the staircase arm in arm with Salisbury’s wife. A maid followed them. She would fight him to the end when he finally bedded her. Breaking her would be…
magnificent
…His cock surged upward at the thought of it.

Marcella burst into tears and ran from the hall. Renauld looked after her. She could prove to be of further use if the king did not cooperate. It was difficult to walk with his cock as swollen as it was, but still, he went after her. The woman needed consoling. Renauld was certain he had just the thing to help her past her anger.

A
s it turned out, Eliane’s worry over the discovery of her ears was groundless. They were a curiosity, and nothing more. The king took the time to inspect them before dinner the next evening.

“They are quite exquisite, my dear,” he commented after he ran his fingers over the peaks. Eliane did her best not to flinch at his touch. Lydia held her hair back so it would not hinder his examination. She kept her eyes on Rhys, who stood across from her. His face remained impassive, but she could tell by the way his fingers handled the hilt of his dress sword that his anger simmered beneath the surface.
Is he jealous of the king?
Llyr, who was another novelty as far as the king was concerned, lay at Rhys’s feet, placed there by a word from her. He watched the proceedings carefully, his dark eyes following the king’s hands to make sure there was no threat to his mistress.

“And you were born with them?”

“Yes, sire,” she said.

“Did your mother have ears such as these?”

“Nay, sire, nor did her mother before her.” She did not lie, nor did she volunteer any information. As long as Henry thought she was the exception, there would be no reason for anyone to investigate the people of the forest of Aubregate. She was most grateful that
Rhys had seen fit to send Jess home with a message for Madwyn. The king had bade them to stay in London until he dismissed them, so stay they must.

“I will summon my physicians to examine them,” Henry declared. Rhys took a step in her direction and Llyr rose to his feet.

Eliane put protective hands over her ears. “I assure you there is nothing unusual about my ears other than their shape. If they bother Your Majesty, I will keep them covered.”

Lydia dropped her hair into place and summoned her maid to replace her circlet and veil. “She is not an exhibit in the royal menagerie, Your Majesty.” Lydia dared much. But her father, husband, and father-in-law all held great riches and power, so she was able to dare much. She dipped in a curtsey as if to say the matter was closed.

Henry arched an eyebrow at Peter, who merely grinned and shrugged. Lydia had turned out to be a wonderful friend.

“I find in this case I am in agreement with you,” Henry said. He offered his arm to Eliane to escort her in to dinner.

Rhys followed, with Llyr, then Peter and Lydia. The tables were arranged in a huge square with the lower table pulled back to allow entertainers and servers to enter. As they were of lesser rank than most of the nobles, Rhys and Eliane were sent to a side table while Peter and Lydia joined the king at the main table. She commanded Llyr to lie beneath and he took up a position at her feet.

To her dismay, Eliane found herself sitting opposite Renauld Vannoy. Marcella was seated to his right and
Eliane noticed her upper lip was cut and swollen. Both stared at her. Marcella’s gaze was venomous, but Renauld’s look was strangely curious. As if she were a feast and he was about to eat.

“It seems as if Marcella has found someone to ease her pain at your loss,” Eliane said as Rhys took his seat beside her on the bench.

“Yes, I noticed,” Rhys growled. “I am certain that alliance does not bode well for either of us.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I do not like the way he looks at you.” The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She looked sideways at him from beneath her lashes and saw him return Renauld’s intense stare. They dared not risk a confrontation here.

Eliane touched his arm. “Rest assured, husband, she will not bother either of us after yesterday.”

“She’s more likely to slip a knife between your ribs in a dark corner than she is to come at you directly as she did yesterday.”

Eliane arched an eyebrow at him. “I am glad to see that your taste in women has improved considerably since we met.” A servant held a platter of meat between them. Rhys selected portions for both of them and placed the food on the trencher they were to share. A succinct glance across the way showed that Renauld did the same for Marcella. “At least they are well matched,” she added.

Rhys gave her a lopsided grin. “Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps we will get lucky and they will kill each other with passion.”

She grinned back. “One can only hope.” She let her eyes flick past him, up the table to where Peter and
Lydia sat. She was glad to see that Lydia had noticed the pairing of Renauld and Marcella also.

The woman on Rhys’s other side asked him a question and he politely answered. Eliane took the opportunity to look around at those who were gathered for the feast. Lydia had carefully instructed her on who held important roles in the ruling of the country and described them to her. Richard de Clare, the Earl of Pembrooke, sat to Henry’s left. Raymond de Gros was farther down the table. On the king’s right was his son, Prince Henry, a younger version of his father. Beyond him sat Dermot, the King of Leinster, who had recently been deposed in Ireland. Lydia said he was here to raise troops to reclaim his lands and had Henry’s support, along with Pembrooke’s.

The chatter that greeted her ears was of Ireland, and the fire that had recently destroyed the roof of Norwich Cathedral. She was grateful that none of it was about her or her ears. They were a passing curiosity, nothing more. All that worry over nothing. She was of little consequence when it came to the machinations of court.

She turned to glance down the table and could not help noticing a sad, dark-haired woman close to her age at the lower table who was staring in her direction. Her look was not full of venom, like Marcella’s, but one of loss.
Jane
…

“That would be Jane,” Rhys confirmed.

Eliane turned back to him. “She seems sad.”

“Life has not been fair to Jane,” Rhys said. “I suddenly find I regret my part in that. Hopefully things will be better for her now. The man she is with is Robert Rochelle, the young Lord of Temersea. They are
to be wed, or so the king informed me earlier today. It is a good match for both of them, and he appears to be in excellent health, unlike her last two matches.”

Eliane looked at the plain-looking young man next to Jane. Her earthy beauty made him seem rather drab in comparison. Robert Rochelle was no match for Rhys, at least not in her opinion. In her two days at court, she’d found none that compared.

If only she knew how to break through the barriers he’d erected since their wedding. She was a complete failure as a wife. Yet he was patient with her and most attentive. Any who observed them would not know that they did not share a bed.

Eliane looked once more at Marcella, and then at Jane. Something had attracted her husband to these women. What was it they possessed that had caused him to seek them out and bed them? What was it about bedding that was so enjoyable they would risk shame and punishment to do so? Was it because it was forbidden or was there something in the act itself? She would ask Lydia. Lydia would not laugh or gossip about her. Lydia would tell her what she should do.
“I will not touch you again unless you desire it.”
Lydia would tell her what it was she should desire.

“What of our match? How long will we have to wait for the king’s blessing?” With all the commotion of settling into their new house, they had had little opportunity to talk since their arrival the day before. She could tell something about their audience with the king troubled Rhys.

“I do not know what he plans for us, only that he plans something.”

“It has something to do with Renauld,” Eliane
observed. “Vannoy has no claim to me. Yet I can think of no other reason for the king to detain us.”

“We have both come to the same conclusion.” His eyes showed his approval of her observation. “You will do well here at court.”

“I would rather do well at Aubregate.” Eliane resisted the urge to place her hand on his cheek. To push back the hair that brushed across his forehead. “Thank you for your belief in me.”

“My wife pulled a knife on a woman who insulted her. I have absolutely nothing to worry about.” He raised his chalice in a toast to her.

“From your tone, I would surmise that it is not a usual occurrence,” she teased.

He smiled at her, and then suddenly turned serious. His eyes upon her were dark and deep, like a moonless night sky. His one arm was around her back, and the other on the table before her. Eliane held her hands in her lap and returned his look, trying to read his mood. He licked his lips and the possibility that he would kiss her right here in front of the king and everyone flew through her head.

“My loyal subjects—” Henry stood with his chalice in hand. “A toast. To Dermot of Leinster.”

All raised their wine and toasted Dermot.

Raymond de Gros rose also. “Who here will go with me to retake Dermot’s lands as decreed by our king?”

Rhys groaned beside her. “What?” Eliane asked. “What is wrong?”

“The king has neatly trapped everyone here,” Rhys said as he slowly stood. Eliane looked around the table. Every able-bodied man stood in his place. Including Renauld Vannoy. They drew forth their short
ceremonial swords and raised them high. “Long live King Henry!” they shouted. “Long live King Dermot! Long live England!”

Eliane looked at Lydia. Her face was set, and showed no emotion, even though Peter stood beside her with his sword in hand. At the lower table, Robert Rochelle stood also and Jane’s face held a look of horror. Marcella, however, looked quite happy. She clapped her hands together.

Eliane gripped the edge of the table. “You are leaving me?”

“I must,” Rhys said. “It seems I am going to war in Ireland whether I want to or not.”

Eliane found herself at a loss as to what she should do. She had never been one to find enjoyment in sewing or weaving, nor did she take an interest in cooking. She had forever been a creature of the forest, exploring its depths and finding a kinship with the animals that dwelled within. Unfortunately for her, the forest was far, far away.

In the waning days of winter and early spring, Rhys was gone far more than he was at home. First the days were filled with preparations for the invasion in Ireland. Then he had to go to his lands and gather men-at-arms and funds for the coming siege. Armor had to be fitted to Mathias and the squire instructed in what was expected of him. The horses must have new shoes and the saddles and bridles be inspected for wear. Then Rhys’s armor underwent inspection by both him and Cedric, who polished it all until it was blindingly bright.

Eliane felt like a prisoner. The king would not let
her go to Myrddin with Rhys, nor would he let her return home to Aubregate. She was under his most generous protection.

In the meantime, Renauld seemed to be quite taken with Marcella. Eliane hoped Marcella’s lands were richer than Aubregate and he would forget about her. Still, they both seemed to watch her whenever they were summoned to court dinners.

During these times Eliane found that she was grateful the king allowed her to stay in a house rather than at court. She was not under the constant scrutiny of anyone, save Khati. At times she was even able to get out and ride Aletha, but only as long as her men-at-arms were present.

When Rhys was in residence, he was so busy with preparations that he left before she rose in the morning and fell asleep as soon as he’d had his evening meal. Eliane found herself exhausted at the end of the day too. The endless days wearied her more than any hunt or harvest had in the past.

Her only escape was Lydia, who grew large with the child that she hoped would be born before Peter departed for Ireland with the rest of the army. Peter was as busy as Rhys, so Eliane kept Lydia company and her friend taught her to sew the painstakingly small stitches that were needed for tiny garments.

“The men talk as if the siege will be nothing more than a lark,” Eliane said as they sat sewing in Lydia’s quarters at the castle. It was the middle of April and the men were scheduled to depart in a week. Eliane dropped the piece she was working on and went to the window that overlooked the large courtyard. The weather was fine and dry for once, and the air was
fresh from recent rain. Several squires were training below, Mathias among them, with Rhys watching and giving instruction. Llyr had taken to following him, much as he used to do with her. It was something to be grateful for. He could have kept growling whenever her husband came near. Not that
that
was a commonplace occurrence.

“It is true that the Irish warriors are not as well armed as our own,” Lydia said. “Their fortifications are weak also. Peter thinks it will simply be a matter of showing up to force Ruairc to surrender.”

“If it is so simple, then why do they carry on as if they are going off to the Holy Land for a crusade?”

“God save us from that,” Lydia said. “It is the way of men. They live for war. It is the women who suffer at home without news and wonder each day what is happening and whether they are coming home.”

“Madwyn once told me that men embrace war as they embrace their wives.”

“Madwyn is a very wise woman,” Lydia commented. “You must miss her.”

Eliane leaned her forehead against the pane of glass, hoping it would cool her body. Not only did she sleep most of the time, but she seemed to be perpetually warm. “I do…I miss everything about home.” She was so lonely at times, she felt as if her heart would break. She had turned into a weakling since leaving Aubregate. She needed the forest to restore her soul.

“Does it affect your hunger?” Lydia asked.

Eliane turned, curious at the strange question. “What do you mean?”

“You are sick for home.” Lydia put her sewing aside, pushed her heavy bulk out of the chair, and waddled
most ungracefully to Elaine. “Are you having trouble eating?”

“Only in the morning. I can’t keep anything down. But come evening, I make up for it.”

Lydia placed a hand on Eliane’s forehead. “Sleeping during the day, unnaturally warm, and losing your breakfast?”

“Yes.” Eliane looked intently at her friend.

“How are your breasts?”

“My breasts?”

“Are they tender when Rhys…”

Eliane felt her skin turn bright red and Lydia stopped.