Spectre of the Sword (3 page)

Suddenly, a pair of
knights burst into the trees near them, locked in mortal combat.  Rhys and
Elizabeau watched as the men fought ravenously, hacking away with skill and
power.  One knight’s charger slipped in the mud and the beast fell to its
knees, allowing the opposing knight the upper hand. Off balance, the knight on
the compromised horse was at a distinct disadvantage.  

In a flash, Rhys lifted
his crossbow and fired at the dominant knight, striking him squarely in the
ribs when he lifted his right arm to deliver what could have been a mortal
blow.  The knight grunted, dropped his sword, and fell to the ground shortly
thereafter.

Rhys emerged from their
shielding haven, approaching the knight whose charger was righting itself.  The
horse was muddy, but unharmed. The knight saw Rhys approach and tossed up his
visor.

“Du Bois!” he threw a
leg over the saddle and plunged to the ground. “Thanks for the help, man.  We
were wondering where you had gone.”

Rhys propped the
crossbow against his hip, holding onto the hilt. “Only as far as the trees once
I figured out that Courtenay’s fortress was compromised. But my charger is
about to collapse.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bulk of the
fighting. “How did you know they would be here?”

“Chris interrogated one
of the fools who attacked us back at Hyde House,” the knight replied; he was
handsome and blue eyed. “He managed to wrest some interesting information from
him, mostly that John was aware you were taking the lady to Courtenay’s Ealing
manor.  His men were waiting for you.  We tried to catch up with you and could
only hope we made it in time.”

Rhys scratched his damp
forehead underneath the mail hauberk. “How would he know?”

The knight shrugged his
shoulders. “Spies abound everywhere, Rhys. You’ve been at court long enough to
know that.”

Rhys shook his head. “I
cannot believe there would be a spy in our midst, David.  The earl’s men have
been with him for years. There’s no way it would be one of them.”

David de Lohr lifted his
broad shoulders. “Probably not, but is not the first time we have run into
betrayal.  The informant could be one of the soldiers or servants.  Or it could
be another knight; we simply do not know.  We must watch what we say in front
of those we do not know intimately.”

The fighting was growing
weaker; some were running off as de Lohr’s men chased them.  Rhys and David
watched as the group began to scatter, fleeing into the pounding storm.  David
finally turned back to Rhys.

“Where is the lady?” he
asked.

Rhys turned towards the
shielding foliage just as Elizabeau emerged; she had been listening to their
conversation.  Soaked to the skin and very cold, her pert little nose was
bright red beneath the folds of the cloak.

“Where do I go now?” she
asked snappishly.  “Courtenay’s manor is obviously compromised. Or do you plan
to run with me night and day until we all drop from exhaustion?”

Rhys didn’t react other
than to indicate David. “My lady, this is Sir David de Lohr, brother of the
earl.”

Elizabeau studied the
man as he dipped his head at her in greeting; he wasn’t nearly as big as the
earl, but she could tell just by looking at him that he had the trained,
muscular body of a warrior.  He was very handsome with pale blue eyes and a
square jaw. 

“My lady,” David
acknowledged. Then he looked back at Rhys. “There’s an inn at Hanwell. Chris
says to take her there and stay there until he comes.”

Rhys nodded sharply and
turned for the lady, taking her by the arm and leading her silently back
towards their hovel of bushes.  But Elizabeau wouldn’t be led away so easily.
She fixed on David.

“So is this your cunning
plan?” she asked, belligerence in her tone. “One step to the next, hoping to
avoid trouble with no real strategy in mind? I’ll not be dragged all over
England like common baggage.  Where on earth are you taking me?”

David removed his helm,
pulling his mail hood back to reveal cropped blond hair.  He scratched his
scalp furiously.  It was evident he was taking his time in answering her.

“We are doing what we
must to save your life,” he fixed on her, his blue eyes hard. “If you have a
better plan, then by all means, take your own life in your hands and try to
stay one step ahead of your uncle.  He’s already killed your brother and now he
wants you. If the lords of Brittany were unable to protect Arthur, then what
makes you think you alone will be able to save yourself?” He walked towards
her, stalking, anger in his manner evident. “All you need do is command us to
leave you, Lady Elizabeau. ‘Tis you who hold the power; not us. We are your
servants.  Command us away and we shall obey.”

By this time, he was
standing in front of her, drilling holes into her with his piercing gaze. 
Elizabeau tried not to appear too intimidated.

“’Tis not that I do not
appreciate your devotion, Sir David,” she was considerably softer. “But it
would seem to me that there should be a definitive plan in place, safe houses
where you will take me until I can be united with my betrothed. Surely the
emperor is sending men at this very moment to aid us in our endeavor. This
marriage means as much to him as to us.”

David had lost none of
his harsh stance. “My brother is a brilliant tactician. He would not be the
king’s champion where this not so. You must trust him, my lady. He will do what
he feels best for you.  It would make it much easier for all of us, especially
du Bois, were you to simply comply with what we ask without question or
resistance.”

Elizabeau dared to look
up at Rhys; he stood beside her, more than a foot and a half taller, gazing
steadily at her with his brilliant blue eyes. He hadn’t said a word, nor had he
changed expression.   She was suddenly coming to feel the least bit guilty for
her difficult behavior.  A powerful chill raced through her and she pulled the
cloak about her as tightly as it would go, averting her gaze at the same time.

“It is not my intention
to be difficult,” she said quietly. “This… this has all been a bit overwhelming
for me. I’ve never had men try to kill me before. I never knew I was going to
be a queen before.”

David’s manner softened
somewhat. He glanced at Rhys, who was looking at the lady’s lowered head. 
David cleared his throat quietly.

“We want you to be
queen, else we would not be risking our lives so,” he said. “We are trying to
help you achieve this, for all of England.  Do you not understand this?”

“I do.”

“Then it would help our
cause considerably if you would simply cooperate.”

She looked at him,
then.  After a moment, she sighed heavily and lowered her eyes again. “As you
say.”

David simply nodded; he
didn’t believe her for a moment but would not contradict her. Like his brother,
he knew women somewhat, having a spirited wife of his own and her two equally
spirited sisters that lived with them. He knew what it meant to contradict a
woman when one was attempting to gain her compliance.  He would have a battle
on his hands.

He turned back to Rhys.
“Get her to Hanwell. The inn is on the outskirts, called the Blond Gazelle.
We’ll meet you there.”

With that, he pulled his
mail hood back on and turned for his charger, now munching on wet grass.  Rhys
took the lady by the elbow again and let her back to their leafy haven. 

His charger had cooled
somewhat and was nibbling on the bushes he was tethered to.   Rhys resecured
his shield and his crossbow and led the horse out of the foliage.  He mounted
Elizabeau without a word and leapt on behind her.   

“Sir knight?”
Elizabeau’s voice was soft.

“My lady?”

She turned slightly,
gazing up into his strong face. “I do apologize if I have made this a miserable
trek for you. It was not my intention.”

Rhys had been largely
silent since the beginning of the foray.  It was what it was, and she was the
way she was. He accepted it.

“It is of no matter, my
lady,” he said honestly.

“But it is,” she
insisted. “I never meant to imply that I was ungrateful for your loyalty.  It’s
just that I have lived my entire life in relative peace, with a relatively
normal routine, and suddenly two days ago I am told I am heir to the throne of
England and my uncle, whom I have only met twice in my life, is out to murder
me.  It is all so difficult to believe.”

Rhys’ professional
persona was wavering slightly. He wasn’t used to emotion or apologies, in any
form, especially from a woman. In fact, he’d made it a practice in life to stay
clear of women in general.  They could topple a man faster than the mightiest
enemy.  He’d seen it before.

Now the firebrand was
banking her heat and he had no idea how to deal with it. But he knew,
instinctively, that he did not trust her.  There had to be an ulterior motive
to her kindness.

“Understood, my lady,”
he said.

“I would wager that if I
could only speak with my uncle, I am sure we could settle this issue. Perhaps
this is all some horrible misunderstanding.”

“Impossible, my lady. 
It is my duty to keep you safe and I shall do so with my last breath.”

It wasn’t much of an
answer.  In fact, it was the generic knightly rhetoric.  With a resigned
wriggle of well-arched brows, Elizabeau returned her attention to the landscape
before them.  Even as he spurred the charger forward, her mind lingered on a
final thought; what if these knights attempting to supplant her on the throne
were wrong? What if they were all wrong?

She wondered.

CHAPTER THREE

Hanwell was a town
inundated by the driving rain.  The streets were flooded and so were some of
the houses.  As Rhys and Elizabeau entered the outskirts of the berg, some of
there residents were bailing water out of their homes.  Doors were open and
buckets were flying.  Rhys steered his charger clear of more flying water as
they made their way down Argyle Street toward the northwestern edge of town.

The Blond Gazelle wasn’t
hard to find. It was a brightly lit place with several drunken patrons
lingering by the open door, soaked to the skin but not caring. They were having
a marvelous time.  Rhys pulled the charger to a halt when he came to within
several yards of the place, watching the activity for a moment before
proceeding.  He wanted to make sure there were no obvious signs of John’s
assassins. 

Quietly, he directed his
charger behind the inn and lowered Elizabeau into a huge puddle of horse piss
and rain.  She sloshed her way out of it miserably as Rhys dismounted behind
her and collected his weapons and saddlebags.  A sleepy lad emerged from the
small stable, rubbing his eyes and taking hold of the charger.  Rhys gave the
boy a few coins to care for the charger.  Collecting the lady by the elbow, he
took her around front and into the warm, loud establishment.

It was crowded inside. 
Rhys scanned the room for foe and ally alike before directing the lady towards
the smoking fire.   Elizabeau was so cold that her lips were blue and it took
Rhys a few moments to realize that she was nearly frozen. Before this moment,
he’d been so consumed with scouting threats that he hadn’t noticed.  He
suddenly felt somewhat guilty that he had not paid closer attention to his
charge as he watched the blue lips quiver and the teeth chatter.

There was a man,
probably a merchant, in a fur-lined cloak seated near the fire and enjoying a
large meal.  With the lady in hand, Rhys went to the man and ripped the cloak
from his shoulders, pulling him to the floor in the process.  The man coughed
and bellowed, looking up to see a knight of enormous proportions hovering over
him.  Before the man could utter a word of protest, Rhys grabbed him by the
neck and tossed him half-way across the room.

“The lady requires your
seat,” he said as the man skidded across the floor.

Elizabeau watched with
surprise as the wealthy merchant tumbled into a heap.  But she did not have
time to comment as Rhys literally picked her up and set her down in the chair
the merchant had occupied.  She was suddenly very close to the fire and any
thoughts of the merchant died in her throat as the searing warmth enveloped
her.

“You’re freezing,” Rhys
said as he pulled the wet oilcloth off of her and replaced it with the
merchant’s dry, fur-lined cloak.  “Sit here and warm yourself. I shall return.”

He was gone, off across
the crowded room and heading for the barkeep.  Chilled, hungry, Elizabeau
turned back to the fire and held her hands over it, feeling the heat like a
thousand pin-pricks against her flesh.  It was delightful.  She closed her
eyes, feeling the warmth on her face, thawing her. She’d not felt such comfort
in days.  Not since men from Hubert de Burgh’s ranks came to her mother’s home
in South London and forcibly escorted her from its walls. 

She opened her eyes, her
mood growing somber as she thought of the turn her life had taken over the past
two days.  Until then, she had been blessed with a relatively privileged
existence. Being the niece of the king, though illegitimate, had brought her
that honor.  In truth, she had seen her father only five times in her life and
her Uncle John only twice.  The royal family, for the most part, had left her
alone as the bastard of Geoffrey.  But that life of obscurity was apparently no
longer.