A Dishonorable Knight (13 page)

Now she was dreadfully confused.
Gareth was none of these things, could give her none of these things. Why,
then, did her mind constantly replay their kiss of the night they had escaped
the mercenaries? Why did she wake up in the morning with her face pressed to a
pillow, disappointed that it was not Gareth's warm throat, disappointed that
the covers smelled like linen and not leather and sweat, disappointed that a
rough blanket had kept her warm instead of his arms? Nothing could come of it.
Nothing should come of it, she told herself sharply, but Elena could still not
get him out of her mind.

When they returned, the small bailey
of the keep was full of people. Women were chattering
,
children were running about screaming and laughing while a motley assortment of
hounds chased them, and men were talking animatedly.

"What's going on?" Elena
asked, breaking their strained silence for the first time since the
mountaintop.

Gareth stood up in his stirrups to
get a better view. "'Tis my kinsmen Owain and Rhys! They live on Anglesey.
Seems they've come for a visit and brought three large deer with them. There
will be fresh venison tonight," he said with a laugh. Quickly dismounting,
he waded through the throng of people. Elena leaned sideways to see him
heartily embracing his cousins. She was about to try to slide off her horse
when she heard Gareth cry "Bronwen!" She sought him out, only to see
him enthusiastically kissing a woman with the blackest hair Elena had ever
seen. Seething jealousy poured unexpectedly through Elena's veins. Had he
called for her so she could see this vulgar display? Twisting in the saddle,
she lowered herself ungracefully to the ground and stalked toward the main door.

She had just reached the lower step
when someone touched her elbow. Turning Elena looked up into deep blue eyes
heavily fringed with thick black lashes that matched the shock of silky hair
and trim beard of one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

"Hello. What have we here,
Gareth?" the man said in a deep voice tinged with humor.

Gareth’s good humor seemed to
evaporate, as he stiffly obliged with introductions. "Rhys, may I present
the Lady Elena de Vignon a visitor from England. Lady Elena, my cousin, Rhys
Thomas, and his brother, Owain."

Elena smiled beguilingly when Rhys
bent low over her hand and murmured, "I am enchanted, my lady. May I say
how fortunate Wales is to have you in its borders." Rhys's older brother,
Owain, simply nodded a brief greeting before turning back to his conversation
with Morgan. Gareth was aware that Rhys had not relinquished her hand as he
turned and pulled the dark-haired woman forward. "Lady Elena, this
is my sister Bronwen."

The black hair and blue eyes that
were so striking on Rhys were equally attractive on his sister who was looking
at her brother with a look of mock disgust. Turning to Elena she smiled.
"Please forgive my brother, Lady Elena, I fear the sun has been too much
for him and his brain is a bit addled." Elena appeared to be translating
the rapid Welsh in her head. As soon as she did, she realized that Bronwen was
joking.

With a laugh, she said, "Would
that more Englishmen were as addled!"

Everyone but Gareth laughed. Taking
Bronwen's arm, he said, "You're not married yet, are you Bronwen? You've
not forgotten you vowed to wed me should I remain single by my twenty-fifth
year. As I recall, that should be coming up in a few months, is that not right,
father?" Laughing, he and Bronwen entered the main hall behind Morgan.

***

The feast was a merry one, rivaling
that of the night of Gareth's return. Musicians played rollicking dances, wine
and ale flowed freely, and Elena was reveling in the attention paid by the
handsome Rhys. In spite of herself, she also found she truly like Rhys's sister
Bronwen. Though they had spent little time talking, Elena felt a kinship for
the Welshwoman she had scarce felt for any of her friends in Richard's court.

As she waited for Rhys to bring her a
goblet of spiced wine, Elena let her eyes roam around the crowded hall. When
she spotted Gareth whispering in Bronwen's ear she frowned. The man was making
a fool of himself, she thought. In their few minutes of conversation, Brownen
had told her that she was hoping to wed a man from Beaumaris in Anglesey. Now
Gareth was undoubtedly annoying the poor woman and acting, Elena felt, most
unchivalrously toward a nearly betrothed woman. That she could think of nothing
but the "unchivalrous" way he had acted towards her, a legally betrothed
woman did not strike her as odd. When Rhys returned and presented the goblet
with a flourish, Elena could not help but asking, "Should we rescue your
sister? She looks to be tediously bored with Sir Gareth's attention." At
Rhys's enigmatic smile, she hurriedly added, "Having been subjected to
conversation with him, I can well sympathize."

"Then by all means," he
said, and Elena could not but wonder if he weren't silently laughing at her,
"let us go and save my dear sister. Although I must warn you, she may not
wish to be saved. She's near an accomplished flirt as I am." Taking
Elena's arm, he led her towards Gareth and Bronwen.

Elena immediately felt foolish.
"Oh. Then perhaps we'd best leave them be. Shall we dance?"

"No, no. It will be most
entertaining, I assure you, to further annoy Gareth."

Elena was prevented from arguing as
they approached the couple and Rhys said, "You're not saying anything that
would force me to defend my sister's honor, are you good cousin?"

Gareth's eyes strayed to Elena who
quickly lowered her eyes and feigned absorption in pushing back the cuticle of
her left thumb. "Not that you're half man enough to take me on," he
said with a laugh, "but no, I'm merely trying to convince your sister
she'd be miserable married to old Dylan ap Gruffydd. Don't you think she should
stay here and marry me?"

"Now wait a moment,"
Bronwen protested in mock indignation. "Dylan is not old, he's mature.
Perhaps if you weren't such a whelp yourself, I'd be inclined to consider your
offer. As it is, I'm afraid you're just no match for Dylan." Bronwen shook
her head and put on a sickeningly sweet dreamy face. Elena could not help
joining in the men's laughter at Bronwen's theatrics.

When he caught his breath, Rhys said
to Gareth, "Perhaps I'll have more luck convincing the same of Lady
Elena." He cocked an eyebrow at Elena and said, "What say you, my
lady? Care for a life of adventure?"

Elena laughed and was about to
respond with an equally flirtations answer when Gareth cut her off.

"Sorry, Rhys, you've neither wealth
nor a title to woo her with. The Lady Elena is already engaged to a rich
English earl."

While Rhys pretended to be crushed,
staggering about clutching his heart, Elena glared at Gareth and prayed more
fervently than she ever had that he would drop dead on the spot. Gareth
returned her scowl

Bronwen watched Elena and Gareth
speculatively. "Rhys!" she called trying to distract him from his
antics. "Why don't you console your breaking heart by dancing with
Elena."

"Oh very well. If that is the
most I can--" at the pointed look from his sister, he shut up and gently
took Elena's arm.

When they were gone, Bronwen stared
at Gareth, awaiting an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she prodded,
"Well, aren't you going to explain that little display of temper?"

Although he and Bronwen had been
friends since they were children, the one trait Bronwen had that never ceased
to annoy Gareth was her ability to sound like a nosy mother hen. She was doing
that exact impression now.

"What display of temper?"
Gareth asked, feigning ignorance.

"You're quite taken with her.
It's written all over your face."

"What? Oh don't be ridiculous,
Bronwen," Gareth started to turn away but Bronwen caught his shoulder.

"You are! You're in love with
her, admit it."

Gareth ground his teeth in anger.
Lowering his voice he said crudely, "The only thing I'm taken with is her
body. I find it quite irresistible. But since I'm sure she would like to go to
her marriage bed with her maidenhead intact, I guess I'll just have to--"
Bronwen's slap prevented any further words.

Her blue eyes flashing with anger,
Bronwen said, "I can still thrash you, Gareth
ap
Morgan. Don't think I can't. And after what you just said, you soundly deserve
it." Bronwen took a deep breath and stared at Gareth's flushed face.
"But since I also know that in your heart you didn't mean it, I'll pretend
you didn't say it." She turned to leave but paused. "Just don't treat
her so again, Gareth. It does you no honor."

Gareth watched Bronwen approach Elena
and speak with her for a few moments. The two women then turned and went up the
stairs. Gareth took a big swallow of ale.

Where had Bronwen come up with the
insane notion that he was in love with Elena? He could barely tolerate her
presence; she was always whining about her clothes, the quality of the food,
the
hardness of her saddle...Gareth paused. Now that he
thought of it, he could not recall Elena complaining once since they reached
Eyri Keep. And if he was truthful with himself, he had enjoyed her company
today until he had tried to kiss her. Gareth cringed inwardly as he relived
Elena's outraged rebuffs. Would he never learn?
he
thought. Taken by her angelic looks and occasional good humor, could he never
remember that she was a spiteful, self-centered woman who considered him
nothing more than a lackey? That she haunted his dreams nightly; that he could
not get her scent out of his mind; that his lips were forever remembering the
softness of hers simply meant that he had been too long without a woman--a
situation he could and would easily rectify.

And when his father left for
Aberystwyth the following week to meet with Henry's supporters, he would take a
short detour to drop Elena at the abbey at Dinas Mawddwy and then rejoin his
father at the meeting of Welsh lords. She would be safe there and he would be
able to get her out of his mind once and for all!

As he reviewed his plan with a
self-satisfied smirk, a small voice niggled the back of his brain. Though he
tried to ignore it, he could not help but hear its cry that though Elena might
not always act a lady, his own actions were not above reproach. Gareth shook
his head in confusion as he remembered cruel taunts and boorish behavior. Never
had he acted so towards a lady of rank.
Toward any lady, for
that matter.
He had always extended his knightly vows of chivalry and
courtesy to all women, servant and noble alike. Why now was he treating Elena
so rudely? Could his cousin Bronwen be right? Was he in love with the
Englishwoman? If so, how could that be?

“Now that is a face of a man with an
empty ale pot!”

Gareth looked up and smiled as his
father joined him at the table. Glancing in his mug, he realized it was indeed
empty. Thankful for the excuse, he waggled the mug at his father. “Two years
I’ve been gone and I can’t get another pint?”

“Well if we’re celebrating your being
home, we shouldn’t drink this swill,” Morgan said, pushing
his
own
mug away. Gesturing for a servant, he asked for something Gareth
couldn’t quite hear before turning back to his son.

“What think you of the new fields
we’ve plowed? I’m thinking the drainage will be better for the barley.”

Gareth grinned. There was nothing
more important to his father than the land and even with a possible war on the
horizon; his crops would always take precedence in Morgan’s life. “They look
well thought out. I’d wager you
can’t
wait for colder
weather to plant.”

Morgan chuckled. “All in good time,
all in good time.”

The servant arrived with a bottle of
golden liquid and two clean mugs.

“Don’t say you’re going to share your
mead with me. You only ever save that important guests.”

“And who’s more important than my
prodigal son, I say?” his father asked as he carefully peeled the wax from the
cork and opened the bottle. The fragrant scent of honey reached Gareth’s nose
as his father poured a generous mugful. He had only ever had his father’s
rather famous mead twice before—and those on momentous occasions such as
funerals or grand assemblies. He let the fumes fill his nose before taking a
sip. The mead was smooth and rich, slipping past his tongue sensuously. The
bite of liquor came after he swallowed, letting him know that if he drank more
than a cup or two, he might find himself waking up under a table or in some
maid’s bed. He took another sip and considered the second option would not be
so bad, especially as it would help distract his mind from Elena.

His father spent several minutes
inspecting the color of his wine, assessing it’s bouquet and rolling it about
on his tongue before declaring, “Not a bad batch, if I do say so myself.”

Morgan went on to bring Gareth up to
date on the changes he’d make to the breeding stock, the walls he’d had
repaired around the fields and any number of other grounds keeping details he
could remember (and he remembered them all). Gareth knew it was pointless to
remind his father that he had chosen his path as a knight, not a land steward.
Morgan believed that once Gareth had exorcised his obsession with “swordplay
and jousts,” he would return to his birthright as a minor Welsh lord. In truth,
Gareth knew he could not spend all of his days as another man’s
knight—the body could only withstand so many years of that abuse. He just
anticipated that his permanent return to Eyri Keep would be much further off
than Morgan was counting on.