Spectre of the Sword (16 page)

“You are indeed that
strong,” he assured Rhys. “You are the strongest man I know, the greatest
knight this family has yet to see. But would you like to hear the rest of my
advice? I fear you will not like it.”

Rhys lifted his big
shoulders. “I already do not like it, but continue.”

“Let me recall your
brother.  Have Rod take her to Ogmore and be done with it.”

Rhys looked at him. 
“Rod?” he repeated, thinking on his younger, more volatile brother. “He’s
capable, of course. But would Berwyn let him go? Rod does everything for him
now that he’s so old.”

Rhett laid a meaty hand
on Rhys’ arm. “I’ll send word to Bronllys right away. Rod can be here in a few
days.”

Rhys didn’t say
anything.  He returned his attention to Elizabeau and Maddoc, who had now lost
the frog in the grass and were attempting to capture it again.   As his uncle
shuffled away, Rhys made his way over to the pair in the weeds.  With every
step he took, his heart was breaking just a little more.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The town of Llandogo was
a few miles to the south of Whitebrook, a village that was at a major crossing
across the River Severn and heavily populated by merchants and seamen.  It was
early afternoon when Rhys and Elizabeau left to do their shopping, taking Dylan
and Carys along with them.  Rhys thought it would be safer that way because if
his siblings were along, then he and Elizabeau would have no privacy to discuss
the things he was desperately attempting to avoid.  But, on the other hand, he
sorely regretted not having any time alone with her.   It was an odd paradox.

Elizabeau rode with him
atop his charger while Dylan rode his leggy brown gelding and Carys plodded
along on her gray palfrey. The two younger siblings were thrilled to be away
from Whitebrook and excited at the prospect of spending the afternoon in
Llandogo. Only Rhys and Elizabeau seemed silent, either lost to their own
thoughts or paying attention to everything else but each other.  If Carys and
Dylan noticed, they did not let on.

Llandogo was about an
hour’s ride. As they came upon the outskirts of the town, they began to run
into the traveling merchants and gypsies that set up on the side of the road
and attempted to lure customers to their wares.  Carys was immediately taken
with the pretty merchandise that a swarthy, round woman sold from the rear of
her wagon, long strips of colored fabric that blew softly in the breeze.  But
Rhys would not let her stop to look and, disappointed, she plodded along
gloomily behind her brother.

Dylan found a dog show
in progress as they came upon the main street of merchants.  The  man had six
small dogs that he had trained to do tricks, and several children gathered
around to watch with delight.   Before Rhys could stop him, Dylan had climbed
off his horse and was involving himself in the dogs’ antics.  When the tiny
white mutt did a flip, Dylan cheered loudly.  Then he immediately wanted a dog,
to which Rhys told him no.

Rhys dismounted his
destier with the intention of collecting his younger brother; the lad was
trying to negotiate to buy the little dog that had performed the flip.
Elizabeau stayed mounted for a moment, watching the way Rhys moved; he stalked
like a cat, a gait that was both powerful and frightening.  It made her heart
swell just to watch him.  Attempting to distract herself from thoughts of him,
she caught sight of a merchant stall off to her left and slid off of the
charger.   The fine products hanging outside of the stand had her interest and
she made her way through the traffic towards it.

Leather satchels had
initially caught her eye and she inspected the bags that hung in the doorway. 
They were very finely made and she also inspected a pair of leather boots that
were unfinished, just waiting for the right buyer so they could be tailored to
the foot.  Wandering further into the stall, she came across bolts of material
stacked one atop the other.  It smelled strongly of dust and fabric. She
fingered her way through a very fine linen, colorful tweeds and tartans, silks,
and finally a pale lamb’s wool that was so soft, it was as if it was made from
clouds.   Elizabeau picked up the bundle of material, rubbing it against her
cheek.

“So you have found
something already?”

Rhys’ voice came from
behind and she turned to look at him, her face still against the fabric. “Feel
this,” she held it out and rubbed it against his cheek. “Isn’t that lovely?”

His brilliant blue eyes
never left her face. “Quite nice,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

She turned back to the
fabrics at hand, still holding onto the lamb’s wool as she fingered through the
stacks.  The merchant, now finished with the customer he had been helping, came
to her aid; he had seen her enter the stall and sensed a big sale on the
horizon.   He made his way over to her, collecting two exquisite bolts of
material as he went.

“My lady,” he greeted
her; he was a thin man with a balding head. “I see that you have excellent
taste in fabric.  Try these, as well.”

He extended the bolts to
her; one was a very fine and white Chainsil, usually used for pantalets and
shifts, while the other was Samite, a luxurious blue twill that was both soft
and heavy.   She inspected both fabrics closely for both quality and defects.

“Well,” she said indecisively.
“I like the lamb’s wool and the Chainsil.  If I purchase both, will you give me
a good price?”

The merchant beamed and
Rhys stood back, watching her haggle with the old man.  He found that he could
not watch anything other than her, the charming way her nose wrinkled when she
spoke or the graceful way in which her hands moved.  When Dylan and Carys came
barreling into the shop begging for coinage so that they could purchase sweets,
he gave them a few coins and sent them along their way. 

His attention returned
to Elizabeau as she concluded her business with the merchant, content to simply
listen to the sound of her voice.  It would have to be enough of a memory to
last him a lifetime and he struggled with thoughts he knew he should not have.
With business at an end, he finally paid the man and took the parcels. 
Elizabeau preceded him out into the afternoon sunshine.

“Where are the horses?”
she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I took them to the
stable around the way.”

“Oh,” she looked around
expectantly. “Where do we go now?”

Rhys came up beside her,
the parcels under one massive arm.  He just gazed at her a moment before
extending his other arm to her.   She smiled faintly and took his elbow with
both hands.  When they resumed their walk, she laid her cheek on his enormous
bicep and snuggled in close against his arm.

Rhys didn’t say anything
for a moment; he just continued walking, realizing that he liked nothing better
than to have her on his arm.  It made him feel whole. And it further occurred
to him, more than ever, that his uncle had been the wiser when he had suggested
turning the escort duty over to Rod.  As much as he didn’t want to, that was as
much as he knew he had to.  He wondered how Elizabeau was going to react,
although he already knew she wasn’t going to react well at all.  But he had to
convince her that it was for the best.

Carys and Dylan came
running at them, holding treats in their hands.  Dylan was shoving pieces of
candied apple into his mouth while Carys seemed to be fond of a bag of treats
she was eagerly digging her fingers into.

“The man has candied
pumpkin and boiled sugar,” Dylan said between bites; his mouth was so full that
he was in danger of choking. “Can I have some candied pumpkin before we leave?”

Rhys just shook his head
at him, slapping him lightly on the side of the head. “If you don’t explode
gorging yourself first, then I will take it under consideration.”

“Rhys!” Carys was
pulling on his arm. “That woman across the way has perfumed oils. Oh, please,
can I please get some? Please?”

Rhys opened his mouth to
deny her but caught Elizabeau’s pleading expression and rethought his answer. 
He pursed his lips irritably at her, just to let her know he wasn’t pleased
with the request or the fact that he knew she was silently begging on Carys’
behalf.  Her reaction was to smile broadly at him.  He just rolled his eyes.

“I did not bring you two
into town so you could put me into the poor house,” he snapped benignly at his
brother and sister. “We came to purchase some needful things for… my wife, not
to supply you two with enough treasures to provide for a small country.”

Elizabeau took pity on
Carys’ fallen expression. She reached out and stroked the lovely red hair. “A
small vial of perfumed oil will not put you into the poor house,” she said,
smiling at Carys’ now-hopeful expression. “I believe we can spare a few coins
for such a thing.”

Carys’ shrieked and
grabbed Elizabeau by the hand, pulling her along as she danced across the
avenue.  Rhys couldn’t help but smile as he watched his sister drag Elizabeau
towards the merchant stall.  Dylan stood next to him, overloading on sweets,
and Rhys shoved the two packages of material at him.   The boy somehow managed
to continue eating and hold two heavy bundles at the same time, trailing after
his older brother as they followed the women.

There were dozens of
perfumed oils and pomades.  While Elizabeau only smelled them, Carys began to
rub everything on her arm.  In short order, she was quite pungent and Dylan
began to complain that it was making his head hurt.   Insulted, Carys slapped
Dylan on the arm but was prevented from doing further damage by Rhys, who took
her by the shoulder and pushed her back towards the perfume vials.   Elizabeau
handed her one to distract her.

“What do you think of
this?” she asked Carys.

Carys sniffed the vial,
long and heavy. “It’s too strong. What is it?”

“Hyacinth.” As Carys
went back to the selection, Elizabeau held the vial up to Rhys. “I rather like
it. What do you say?”

Rhys’ brilliant blue
eyes were riveted to her face, even as he took a sniff. “Sweet,” he said
quietly.   Like you.  He wouldn’t say what he was thinking.

In the end, Carys had
three vials of perfumed oil and Elizabeau had a tub of fragrant pomade that was
guaranteed to soothe the skin. Dylan wanted his candied pumpkin so Rhys gave
him more money and the lad ran off.   Rhys and the ladies wandered down the
avenue until they came to the seamstress with pre-made garments, including
several shifts that had only been basted together and were hung from the
rafters for show.  One was a long sleeved concoction of Chaintil, as delicate
and soft as a spider’s web, and Elizabeau had the woman take it down from its
hanger so she could see it.  Other than the fact that it was too long, it looked
as if it was the correct size.   A second shift of finely combed and blue-dyed
wool completed the purchase.

Elizabeau and Rhys had
spent a good deal of the afternoon interacting over trivial things but not
speaking any more than necessary.  By this time, Carys was catching on; it was
difficult not to.  She began to watch the interaction between her brother and
his wife, wondering why they acted so strangely towards one another.   The
glances they would cast at each other would have caught fire to the nearest
kindling, so hot were they.  But their words were very superficial to the point
of being disinterested.   She looped her arm through Elizabeau’s as they made
their way from the shop.

“May I ask a question?”
she said, leaning her cheek on Elizabeau’s shoulder and focusing on her with
her big dark eyes.

“Of course,” Elizabeau
replied as she handed her package over to Rhys.

“Do you love my
brother?”

Elizabeau looked at her,
trying to suppress her shock. “Well,” she licked her lips, casting Rhys a long
glance. “I… I suppose that I do.”

“Did you love him at
first sight or did it take time to develop?”

“It took some time.”

“So you did not love him
the first time you saw him?”

Elizabeau thought back
to that stormy night, the enormous warrior covered in weapons and mail.  It
seemed like a lifetime ago. “Nay,” she replied quietly. “Not at first.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was dressed
for battle. He scared me to death.”

Carys grinned as Rhys
entered the conversation.  “Your questions are quite personal, Carys,” he
admonished quietly. “Perhaps Julianna does not wish to speak of it. Those are
private memories meant only for the two of us.”

Carys was still holding
on to Elizabeau’s arm. “But I do not ask of a first kiss, only of the first
glimpse. Why is that wrong?”

“It is not,” Elizabeau
insisted, smiling weakly at Rhys as she did so. “I do not mind speaking of the
first time I saw your massive, frightening, war-mongering brother.”

Rhys’ eyebrows went up.
“War-mongering?” he repeated sarcastically. “Pray, such kind words.”

He and Elizabeau began
to laugh at each other but Carys would not be left out.  Whatever Rhys and his
wife had, she wanted it, too. Or at least she wanted to know about it.