Breath of Heaven (8 page)

“Tell me what you know, Madwyn,” Eliane said. She crossed her arms and plopped down on her bed. “I will not move until you do.” Llyr, seeing her position, jumped up on the bed and stretched out in his usual place.

“Then we are agreed,” Madwyn replied tartly. “Since it is your father’s desire that you stay in place until he calls for you.” She rummaged through the chest, holding different gowns up to examine their worthiness.

Eliane bounced off the bed. “Am I to be kept prisoner?”

Madwyn grabbed Eliane’s hands and led her back to the bed. “You are to obey your father,” she said. “As you promised you would.” She stroked her hand down the side of Eliane’s head. Her hair was once more neatly braided after the thorough washing and brushing Madwyn had given it the night before. “We will dress you in your finest,” she said, “and loosen your hair as befitting a maiden.”

Eliane bit her lip as she looked into Madwyn’s eyes. “Because I am about to meet the man my father has chosen for me to marry?” A shiver of fear trembled down her spine.

“Yes,” Madwyn said.

“Who is he? Where does he come from?” The
questions formed quicker than she could ask them. “What does he look like? Is he old? Young? Can he hold a sword? Is he clean? Does he have all his teeth or is his mouth filled with rot?” The thought of giving the kiss of peace to someone with rotten teeth made her stomach roll in protest.

Madwyn put a finger to her mouth to quiet Eliane. “I am glad to hear the questions of a normal maiden,” she said. “The normal fears—”

“There is nothing normal about this,” Eliane said. She looked about her chamber as if it would offer some means of escape.

“Yes, there is,” Madwyn assured her. “How many maidens do you suppose have asked these same questions before meeting the men they are to marry?”

“How many maidens have the legacy that I have?” Eliane cried out. “How many maidens carry the secrets that I must carry? How many maidens have to protect what I am presworn to protect?”

“The situation may be different, but the feelings are the same,” Madwyn soothed. “Do you not trust your father?” she asked. “Because that is what it comes down to.”

“Tell me, Madwyn,” Eliane said. “What did you see in yon chamber?”

“I saw a man eager to have a wife,” Madwyn said with a quick smile. “One who is most handsome, and strong, and young…and with all his teeth.”

“In truth?” Eliane asked anxiously.

“In truth,” Madwyn replied.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. They both looked toward the closed portal. Llyr jumped from the bed and went to the door. He lay down and sniffed at the
crack as a hard rap sounded on another door. A deep voice responded and the door across the hall opened and closed.

“Come,” Madwyn said with a smile. “Let us prepare you to meet your husband.”

As Madwyn led her to choose her gown, Eliane realized she did not even know her intended husband’s name.

H
e was to marry Lord Edward’s daughter. That was the reason for the summons. He did not even know her name. “What is your daughter called?” Rhys asked.

“Eliane,” Edward replied. “You are not foresworn?” he asked again.

Eliane…the sound of it was lyrical. “No.” His lips lifted into a grin. “I even have the king’s blessing to choose a wife where I will, as long as I make my choice by the first day of February.” This would certainly resolve his earlier dilemma.

“Why must you marry by then? Was there some problem?” Edward asked. He sat against his pillows. They were everywhere, behind his back, beneath his arms and knees, all in place to give his weakened body the support it needed. The room was dark, even though the day shone bright beyond the heavy curtains that covered the windows. There were curtains about the bed too. Edward was well protected from the cold and the light.

Rhys wanted nothing more than to fling back the curtains and allow the sunshine to come in and warm the room and the body that lay dying within the huge bed. Instead he raised his hand in assurance. “The problem was mine—too many brides to choose from. This makes my path easier.”

“Be honest with me, sir,” Edward said. “Is your heart given where your bond may take hold?”

Rhys smiled ruefully as he ran his hand through his still damp hair. “No one has ever held my heart. Not even my mother,” he added. “There are no bonds to tie me other than that which I owe you.”

Edward sank back into his pillows and sighed in relief. “Then let it be done.” He raised a finger and the priest came forth. “The banns are ready?” Edward asked.

“They require only the signatures,” Father Timothy replied. He held a roll of parchment in his hand. “I will post them today. Three days hence the marriage may take place.”

By the looks of Edward, Rhys was not sure he would last three days. He’d been shocked when he first came into the lord’s chambers. The wasted invalid who lay in the bed was not the robust man he recalled from his youth. Yet the eyes were the same, vividly blue and piercing, along with the sharp nose and pronounced brow. The hair, once red, was now shockingly white and the skin, once bronzed from the sun, seemed pasty and as fragile as the parchment Father Timothy now placed before Edward.

Edward’s hand trembled, his manservant Cedric grasped it within his own and guided the quill to the place where Edward must sign. Rhys heard the scratch of the nib and then three pairs of eyes looked up at him expectantly. He nodded and Father Timothy carried the parchment to a table, where he handed Rhys the quill.

Rhys looked at the words carefully written upon the page. Once he placed his name below Lord Edward’s,
he was pledging to care for Edward’s daughter, her lands, and all that lay within the borders of Aubregate. All that was his would become hers and all that was hers would become his. His name, his sword, and his honor would be given into her keeping and he had yet to look upon her face.

He blinked as another face came to mind. A face with emerald green eyes, a proud chin, a straight nose, and delicately arched brows. All framed with hair the color of flames and strangely pointed ears. An enchantment. Nothing more. Nothing there to keep him from his duty except a strange desire to run. Something he would not do. He could not do. His honor would not allow it.

He dipped the quill into the ink, yet he could not bring his hand to the parchment. What of the rumors? The deformity? What if Edward’s daughter was so hideous that she could not show her face? Mathias moved to his side, his young face full of questions at the sudden turn both their lives had taken.

Rhys gave him a reassuring smile, even though he had questions himself. The nib touched the parchment and he formed the letters of his name. Rhys Christian Roger de Remy, Lord of Myrddin.

It mattered not about the daughter who was to be his wife. All that mattered was that he owed Edward his life and he was presworn. He would honor his agreement with this man.

Father Timothy snatched the parchment up and quickly sanded the ink to dry it. Was he afraid Rhys would go back on his word? The man had much to learn and would bear watching. The priest moved to bless Edward and left the room with the parchment in
his hands. The banns must be posted on the door of the church, informing everyone of the coming marriage three days hence.

“When will I have the privilege of meeting the Lady Eliane?”

“First there are some things you should know,” Edward said.

So the time had come to learn her secret. To know the extent of her deformity…

“Aubregate goes to the female of the line,” Edward began. “It has always been so and will remain so. Any daughters you have will inherit the estate and all within.”

“I have my own estates for any sons born of this union,” Rhys said. He was puzzled at the turn of the conversation but not concerned.

“There has not been a son born to a woman of Aubregate in several generations,” Edward said. “If ever,” he added.

Rhys raised an eyebrow at that statement. Was Edward challenging his manhood?

“There are many secrets here,” Edward said. “Secrets that only Eliane can give into your keeping. Do not attempt to uncover them on your own lest you meet your end.”

“I will not be safe on my own lands?” Rhys questioned. “Is this a trick, sir? A test of my honor?” His voice rose and his hand went to his side, where his short sword rested.

“The lands are Eliane’s, Rhys,” Edward reminded him. “And I only tell you this to keep you safe. Do not go into the forest unless you are accompanied by Eliane, Han, or a guide.”

The woman in the forest
…“Han gave me a similar warning yestermorn,” Rhys replied. “What dangers lie within the forest?”

“That will be Eliane’s task to share with you, as it was her mother’s to share the secret with me,” Edward said weakly. Cedric moved to his side and placed a hand against his master’s cheek.

“It is time for you to rest, milord,” he said.

“I need to see Eliane,” Edward protested weakly. “It is time she knew her fate.”

Her fate? Edward made it sound as if she were soon to climb the gallows. It was strange that she was not betrothed until now. The estate was rich enough to receive many offers, unless the fact that the females of the line inherited scared some suitors away. Surely a landless knight would have offered for her, deformity and all. Unless the deformity was such…

Was that why Edward had chosen him? Because no one else would have her? Because he knew that Rhys’s honor would not allow him to walk away from repaying his debt, no matter what the price? It would not bother him to be shackled with such a wife. He would live his life as before. No one at court would need to know anything about her beyond that she was his wife.

Cedric left to fetch the bride-to-be.

Rhys moved to the side of the bed and looked down upon the only person who had ever shown concern for him. Edward’s eyes were closed and his breathing was labored. It was easy to see that his disease had attacked the warrior from the inside, eating him up until there was nothing left but this dry shell of skin and bones, kept alive by determination alone.

“God spare me from such,” Rhys murmured quietly, his hand instinctively going to the small silver crucifix he wore about his neck.

Edward’s hand lay upon the coverlet. The fingers were long and thin and Rhys could not help recalling the strength they once held, enough to pull a boy from the mud and hold him up by the tunic. That hand at one time could wield a broadsword and cleave a man in two. Rhys took the hand in his and noticed the difference in color. His was bronzed from the sun, with veins that pulsed with blood and fingers that were sure and strong. Edward’s was pale white, mottled with spots; his fingers felt as if they would crush beneath his grip.

“I want you to know—” Rhys began. His voice broke and he cleared his throat. He heard Mathias shuffle his feet across the room and wished he’d had the presence of mind to send the squire off. But dying was part of living. And showing gratitude to someone who saved your life was not anything to be ashamed of.

“I want you to know—” he began again, and was heartened when Edward opened his eyes. “That I will give your daughter the same gentle care you gave me,” he said. “I will protect her and this land. You gave me my life and in return I will give her mine.”

Edward smiled. But it was not a smile of gratitude. It was humor that crinkled his eyes and faintly turned his lips upward.

“My boy,” he said. “You do not know of what you speak. Be careful what promises you make at this time, lest you find them impossible to keep.”

“Milord?” Rhys asked. He bent lower as Edward’s voice grew weak. Yet the words he spoke were sure and certain.

“You will find that Eliane will determine what you will give and what she will take from you. And God grant you the patience to find out exactly what it is she wants.”

Rhys wore a puzzled smile as he straightened up. These were not exactly the words of gratitude he’d expected to hear.

“Your daughter comes,” Cedric announced as he returned to the room. Rhys stepped away, into the shadows beyond the bed. He kept the bed curtains between himself and Edward. A bit of privacy for the coming conversation, he told himself, but he knew his hidden position would give him a chance to observe. A chance to prepare himself. He noticed Mathias also faded into a dark corner on his own. The boy was quick to notice what went on around him.

Two women entered the room. One he quickly recognized as Madwyn, the woman who’d attended him at his bath. The other was just as tall and slim. Her hair was dark and unbound and fell past her waist. He could not tell the hue in the dim light of the room. He supposed it could be red, as Edward’s had once been. Most of it was covered with a veil that was held in place by a gold circlet. The veil and her hair hid her face as she bent to her father. She sat down and took his hand in hers with fingers that showed no sign of deformity. Indeed, her arms were straight beneath her sleeves and beneath the dark blue velvet of her bliaut, her spine showed no strange curves or humps. Her steps as she entered had been sure and strong also.

It must be her face
…Rhys prepared himself to see her. He would not show emotion, he would not show horror. He would not shame his bride in front of her
father, nor would he shame himself. He glanced over at Mathias, who seemed to have sunk deeper into the shadows. If the squire shamed either one of them, he would beat the boy soundly. This time he meant it.

“Papa,” she said in a clear, low voice. There was no lisping, no stumbling. Indeed her voice was musical, like water flowing over the rocks in a stream.

“Daughter,” Edward said. “The time has come for you to meet your husband.” She started to rise from her place on the bed, but Edward’s grip held her there. It would have been a simple task to move away, even for a woman. Rhys was glad to see she respected her father. “You have said time and time again that you trust my judgment. That whosoever I choose for you…” His voice was weak. “…you will honor.”

“As I will, Papa,” she reassured him. “I give you my word.”

Edward placed his other hand atop his daughter’s and weakly squeezed them together. “Then arise, Eliane, and meet your betrothed.”

Rhys willed his face to remain impassive as she rose and turned. Once again he was struck by her height. She and Madwyn both were as tall as most men he knew. He stepped forward, toward the bed, which stood between them as a giant barrier. Would it be so in their marriage? he wondered. Would it be difficult to bed her? When the candles were out, would her deformity even matter? She kept her head down, her face lost in the shadows of her hair and veil.

“Lord Rhys de Remy of Myddrin,” Edward said, “has agreed to be your husband.”

Her hands were folded demurely in front of her and she kept her face down as she spoke. “We thank you,
Lord de Remy,” she said. “For helping us in our time of need.”

Once more he was struck by that lyrical voice. It was magical, as if it could capture him in a snare.

Magical
…Rhys stepped around the bed. The drapes blocked his view as he passed the foot, the posts, the corner, until he came to the side she stood on. She wore a blue velvet gown, deeper and darker than the color of Madwyn’s, with gold trim at the sleeves. The color was rich and luxurious, especially against the blandness of Edward’s coverings.

Her veil was white and she wore a belt of gold that matched the circlet upon her head. He saw that her hair was indeed red, but that one word could hardly do the color justice. The candle on the bedside table and the fire flaming brightly in the hearth behind her brought out many more hues. She kept her face downcast so that her hair hid all except the tip of her nose from his sight.

“Mathias,” he said. “Open the drapes so that I may see my bride’s face.”

She let out a tiny gasp, almost imperceptible except for the sudden rise of her shoulders. Behind her, Madwyn put her hand to her face to cover a smile. Rhys saw her blue eyes dancing in merriment and it gave him courage. He took the clasped hands in his and pulled her closer to the foot of the bed and the window.

“The air,” Cedric protested. “It is cold. Too cold for milord.”

“Leave it, Cedric,” Edward said. Rhys spared him a glance and saw a wide smile of approval on his face.

She kept her face down as she allowed him to lead
her. When they both stood at the foot of the bed, before the window, Mathias pulled back the drape and sunlight streamed through the thick glass. Her hair turned the color of flame, with tendrils of red, gold, bronze, and copper all mixed together. Rhys could not help smiling as he placed his finger beneath her chin and raised her face. If dreams could come true, then he would be the first to say they had. Either that or he was still struck deep in some enchantment. Either way, he would enjoy this magic to its fullest.

A finely arched brow rose in challenge as emerald eyes looked upon him in bemusement. “I see you found your way out of the forest, milord,” she said tartly.