A Dishonorable Knight (18 page)

Gareth thanked the woman who closed
the door softly behind her. Taking a deep breath, he moved back to Elena's side
and took up the compress. Against his will, his eyes strayed to her bare
breasts, which were the color of warm ivory in the light of the fire. Quickly
turning his head he busied himself wringing out the cloth. When he had replaced
it on her chest, he drew the covers up and reached for the full bowl of broth.

"Elena?" he said softly.
"You must try to get some of this down." With his free hand he shook
her gently until her eyes opened. "Try and drink, Elena."

Gareth lifted her head and held the
bowl to her lips. She only drank a few swallows, and he spilled just as much
down her neck, but he felt a great sense of accomplishment. "Good girl. Go
back to sleep now." But she was already out.

Gareth awoke to dim sunlight
filtering through the downpour. He sat up abruptly, his muscles sore from their
awkward position in the hard chair in which he had fallen asleep. Moving as
fast as his cramped muscles would allow, he crossed the room and felt Elena's
face. It was still hot, but she was now drenched in sweat, the covers bunched
around her waist. "Damn!" Gareth said. "I should have covered
you hours ago." Cursing his stupidity, he drew the blankets up to her
chin, tucking them around her shoulders. He then sat down on the edge of the
bed and smoothed her damp hair off her face.

Despite her illness, Gareth thought,
she's still the most beautiful woman I've seen. Her normally chestnut hair, now
wet with sweat, was a dark red, her lashes russet fans against her cheeks, her
eyebrows arching softly above. Without thinking, Gareth raised his hand and
traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her mouth.

At his touch, Elena's eyes opened and
she whispered, "Water." Gareth was instantly on his feet, searching
for a bucket or pitcher. "Where could it--Oh damn it all to hell!"
Gareth bellowed as his foot kicked over the bucket of water near the foot of
the bed. He quickly righted the bucket, but not before all the water drained
out.

"I'll be right back," he
told the dazed Elena, and jerking the door open, he bolted down the narrow
staircase. Cynan and Bryant jumped up when he entered the main room.

"Where is fresh water?" he
asked the startled innkeeper.

"I took a bucket up to your room
last--"

"I spilled it. Where do I find
more?" Gareth turned as the door opened, letting in a blast of rain and
the innkeeper's wife who was lugging two buckets.

"Is that fresh water?" he
demanded.

"Aye," said the woman as
she handed him a bucket. "Is she worse?"

"I don't think so; her fever is
starting to break." Without another word, he grabbed the handle and dashed
back up the stairs. Cynan and Bryant stared after him in surprise for several
seconds.

"An unlikelier nursemaid I've
never seen," Cynan said sardonically.

Bryant glanced at their hosts before
turning to Cynan and lowering his voice. "Do you think 'tis quite proper
for Gareth to be in Lady Elena's room like that?"

Cynan looked at his friend with a
suspicious smile tugging at his lips. "Since when are you so worried about
propriety, especially with an English lass?"

Bryant flushed deeply and shrugged.
"I just don't think Lady Elena will be pleased 'twas Gareth who spent the
night with her."

"And who do you think she would
have rather had with her last night?" Cynan asked, all pretense of a
straight face vanishing as he laughed.

"That's not what I meant,"
Bryant denied hotly. "I meant I don't think Lady Elena would prefer to
have any man tending her whilst she's ill."

"'Tis a common enough excuse,
claiming to be ill," Cynan gibed. If there was one thing he enjoyed more
than tormenting Gareth, it was making Bryant blush.

"Have you no decency, you clot?
You'd best keep your mouth closed, lest I be tempted to repeat some of your
remarks to dear Enid."

"Now you don't play fair,
Bryant," Cynan said. "You go telling her such things and 'twill be
she claiming illness every night for a month!" When Bryant looked
unimpressed, Cynan relented. "All right, all right, I'll stop hounding you
and our fair English visitor."

"She's Welsh," Bryant said.

"Who is? What are you talking
about?"

"Lady Elena. She's not just
English,
she's Welsh, too. Her father's mother is from
Glamorgan."

"And how do you know this?
Gareth never made mention of it to me."

A smug look crossed Bryant's face.
"She told me when we went for a walk a few weeks ago at Eyri Keep. Shortly
after we arrived."

Cynan looked at his friend dubiously.
Perhaps the Lady Elena would have preferred his company next to her sickbed
instead of Gareth's after all.

***

The rain continued until midday when
a dim sun broke through the clouds and began to coax steam from the sodden
ground. The Abbess of Dinas Mawddwy had long since given up hope of finding her
ward alive. The river Dovey was still a rushing torrent and the English captain
and his men were encamped next to the flooded ford, unable to cross and
bitterly cursing the abbess who had forced them from their dry quarters to
march in the accursed bogs of Welsh roads.

***

Gareth stood and stretched,
tightening and releasing his leg muscles, reaching his arms over his head. He
walked over to the small window and pushed the shutter open. The cool evening
air that wafted in was scented with the invigorating smell of wet pine needles
and aromatic heather. Gareth breathed deeply before turning back to Elena. Her
fever had broken but an hour ago and after a day of tossing about and mumbling,
she was finally sleeping peacefully. He smoothed the tangle of curls that was
spread across the lumpy pillow, wrapping the silken strands around his finger.
In the tranquil silence of the evening, he wondered about the pulling emotions
that had kept him tied to Elena's side since he had found her in the middle of
the road. Since she had rudely insulted him at Middleham over a month before,
they had been like cats and dogs, always at odds with one another. Now Gareth
wondered how much of that was his wounded pride rebelling at her rejection. In
all fairness, his pride demanded from the back of his mind, she had acted like
a petulant child, complaining about every discomfort as if it were life
threatening. Good lord he had never heard one person whine about the state of her
clothes in all his life!

And yet, somewhere during the journey
through Wales and the stay at Eyri Keep, she had matured. Or perhaps he had
finally seen the real Elena. Gareth sighed and moved over to the hard chair he
had inhabited when he hadn't been sitting on the edge of the bed tending his
beautiful patient.

Whatever the cause behind it, she had
managed to ingrain her very essence into his soul so that he could never fully
forget her. Gareth thought of his father's serving girl he had spent an athletic
night in bed with. Sweet Christ, he could not even remember her name. All he
could remember was running his hands through hair that wasn't a coppery
chestnut and kissing lips that weren't petal soft under the pressure of his
kiss; a touch that did not stir his blood as Elena's did. Leaning back in the
chair, he stretched his legs out, kicking over dishes from their supper. No
matter how he turned or positioned himself, there was simply no comfortable
position and his body rebelled at having to spend one more minute in the
uncomfortable contraption. Abruptly standing, he surveyed the empty half of the
bed. Elena was sleeping soundly and peacefully. Surely she would not even
notice if he curled up in a small corner of the bed. Before his common sense
could present any arguments, his weary body had collapsed on the straw pallet.
Straw?
he
thought. It feels like feathers. He promptly
closed his eyes.

But before he fell into a deep
slumber, his heart inexplicably called to mind the intense emotion he had felt
when he had found Elena in the road. Beneath the fear and worry had been
another feeling: exhilaration.
Exhilaration that he did not
have to give her up so soon.
That he would have a few more days, perhaps
a week with her. Exhilaration and
..
.
love
...

***

Elena frowned in her sleep.

They had just stumbled onto the band
of mercenaries.

"Go Elena, run!" Gareth
shouted, thrusting Isrid away. Elena whirled the horse around and kicked as
hard as she could. Instantly, it seemed, she was on the far side of the clearing.
Reining in as hard as she could, she turned to see a huge claymore begin its
decent toward Gareth's unprotected head.

"Gareth!" she tried to
scream, but no sound came out of her throat. She tried to make Isrid turn and
go back toward his master but the animal would not budge. "Gareth,"
she whimpered as she pounded on the horse's shoulders. And suddenly Gareth was
free. They had escaped and he held her in his warm embrace, chasing away her
fears, running his hands comfortingly up and down her back. She nestled her
face in the base of his throat, inhaling his warm masculine scent.

Elena opened her eyes. The languorous
feeling her dream had wrapped her in stayed with her and she quickly closed her
eyes, trying to recapture the feel of Gareth's lips on hers. It was no use. She
opened her eyes again and stared at a stubbled chin. Trying to roll over she
discovered a heavy arm pinning her against a firm chest. Following the chest to
a broad shoulder, she was disturbingly pleased to discover Gareth asleep next to
her, his face boyishly innocent in slumber, his breathing slow and even. Trying
not to disturb him, not to awaken him, she inched closer to him, until her lips
lightly pressed against his throat. Closing her eyes, she dozed.

***

Gareth buried his head deeper into
the fragrant pillow. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this
comfortable. Inhaling deeply, he flexed his arm muscles and felt them tighten
around a soft form. He quickly opened his eyes and discovered Elena nestled
against him, her chestnut hair spread underneath him like a silken blanket.
Blessed Christ! What had he done? She would kill him if she thought he'd taken
advantage of her in her weakened state. Gareth sat up as far as he was able.
His right arm was pinned beneath Elena, his legs entangled with hers, the
twisted blanket barely covering her from shoulder to thigh. How was he going to
free himself without waking her?

Before he could so much as lift his
free arm, Elena shifted, her head tilting up, her eyes slowly opening. Gareth's
heart stopped. "My lady, I swear--" he began, but Elena silenced him
with a warm and drowsy kiss. For several seconds, he froze, unable to believe
that she was willingly kissing him. When she did not pull away and continued
softly exploring his lips, he tentatively slid his left hand along her waist.
Elena responded by pressing closer against him, a soft moan escaping her lips.
At that, Gareth took control of the kiss, shaping her lips to his, tracing
their soft outline with his tongue. Elena clutched at his shirt, twisting the
fabric in her grasp as she pulled him even closer.

Gareth's only thoughts were to savor
each moment. Feelings he had suppressed for weeks now surfaced and his heart
thudded loudly in his chest as the kiss deepened. Without quite realizing what
he was doing, Gareth eased Elena onto her back, covering half of her body with.
He felt her hands as they tangled in his hair, pulling his lips back to hers
when he would have broken the kiss. He could feel his heart pounding in his
chest, his blood racing hotly through his veins as he tried to reign in his
passion. Elena had to be suffering effects of the fever, he thought. She simply
wouldn't be accepting--no, responding to--his advances, were she in her right
mind. Gareth lifted his head and propped himself up on his right elbow. The
last time he had seen her at the abbey in Dinas Mawddwy, she had made it
abundantly clear that she held him in utter contempt. He gazed down at her
closed eyes as he felt her cheek and forehead. They were cool and dry.
Perplexed, he watched as Elena's eyes opened slowly. Their slumberous depths
were clear and rational and they told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted
him to kiss her again. Gareth lowered his head but paused just shy of her lips
to look into her eyes again, trying to assure himself that this was what she
wanted. At his hesitation, Elena lifted her lips to his, continuing in the
motion to push him onto his back so that she now lay sprawled across his chest.
In their moving about, the blanket had become hopelessly entangled in their
legs and when Gareth raised his hand to Elena's back, he found not rough wool
but warm and silken skin beneath his
fingertips which he
traced upwards until his fingers
encountered Elena's equally silken
tangle of curls.

From there, as if they had a mind of
their own.
His
hands slid back down her back and then around to her midriff. He felt the goose
bumps rise on her skin when he lightly brushed the sides of her breasts, which
were pressed to the rough fabric of his shirt. Elena's hands slid down his
chest to tug at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up around his armpits before
leaning on him again, never once breaking their kiss.