A Dishonorable Knight (48 page)

Finally Gareth said, "How are
you?"

Elena lifted her shoulders in a
delicate shrug that seemed to belie her response, "I'm alright. How are
you? Have you received any trouble for your absence."

"No, everyone seems to be
accepting our story."

Elena nodded. "I'm glad."
As if striving to find something safe to discuss she said, "And how is
Isrid?"

"He is well, although I think he
misses our constant traveling. He was unusually jumpy when last I rode
him." Though he hated himself for asking, he could not stop his next
question. "Has Richard informed you of when you will be wed?"

A shadow immediately crossed her eyes
and she pulled her hands from his, clasping them in front of her. "The
earl has not yet returned from Hastings. I imagine the king will inform me then
what his plans are for me. And you? Are your plans going well?"

Gareth's heart skipped a beat.
"What plans?"

"Your preparations for war. I
saw you practicing today."

"Oh, yes, they are going
well."

"Good."

Gareth gnawed his lower lip. This was
not what he wanted to be saying. He did not want to be wasting precious seconds
babbling about inane topics like his horse and battle practice. Trying to steer
the conversation along a different route, he said, "You were wearing the
dress I bought you today."

Elena's gaze dropped to her
still-clasped hands. “Yes, it's...it's one of my favorites. I wear it quite
often."

Hoping he was not wrong to find
encouragement in her words, he took a deep breath. "Elena, about what I said
the other day."

She raised her eyes to his.
"Yes?" she breathed.

"I--"

"Lady Elena! I'm so glad I found
you," a young page rushed up to her and bowed awkwardly before continuing.
"The Countess of Salisbury is retiring and she requires your attendance.
Will you come?"

Elena paused a long moment, staring
into Gareth’s eyes before replying, "Of course."

The young man waited expectantly, no
doubt planning to escort her to the countess. Elena turned and took two steps
and then paused. "Run along then, I know the way to her chambers."
The page looked apprehensive, but obeyed. As soon as he was gone, she turned
and ran the few steps back to Gareth. Before he could utter a word, she pressed
her lips to his, her body molding itself naturally to the curves of his own.
His hands moved up to embrace her, but she was already pulling away, turning
and running lightly out of the main hall.

Gareth leaned against the stone
fireplace and touched his fingers to his lips. They still tingled from the soft
pressure
of her own
and like a drop of wine to a
thirsty man, only made him long for more. If only that blasted page had not
appeared!

***

"Your Majesty," said Sir
Jasper. When the king turned his attention to the knight, the man bowed
respectfully.

"What is it Sir Jasper?"

"Your Majesty, these men who
have recently joined us have begged for a moment of your time. They claim they
have information you will find of the utmost importance."

Richard looked to the rough but
slightly cleaner soldiers who waited several paces behind Sir Jasper. Turning
back to his meal, he said, "We have already spoken to these men once today
and heard all they know. We have accepted them as soldiers. See that they are
well assigned and leave
Us
be."

Sir Jasper bowed his head in
deference. "I am aware Your Majesty has already spoken with them, but they
seem to be under the impression that they have discovered news of the rebel's
meeting in Wales since this morning."

Richard looked up sharply.
"What?" Standing, he strode to one of the smaller rooms that opened
off of the main hall. The king stopped in the middle of the room and demanded
of the men who had followed, "What news have you of the traitors in
Wales?"

The same burly man who had spoken for
the foursome earlier stepped forward at Sir Jasper's urging. "My liege,
whilst we were in Wales flushing out rebels, we learned from the abbess of
Dinas Mawddwy that a certain knight was on his way to Aberystwyth for the
meeting of the rebels. This knight was a man who serves you even now in your
hall."

Richard's eyes narrowed and his thin
lips compressed until his mouth was a narrow line of anger. He gripped the fur
edges of his mantle with knuckles that were white. "Who was it?"

"I believe I heard him referred
to as Gareth. Gareth ap Morgan."

Sir Jasper gasped and Richard looked
at him sharply. "Does this surprise you, Sir Knight?"

The older man cleared his throat.
"Indeed it does, Your Majesty. Sir Gareth has proven himself to be nothing
other than the most loyal and obedient of your knights. And if he were a rebel,
why would he return here, to your service? Why would he not simply remain with
the other rebels and await Henry Tudor's landing?"

"Perhaps he hopes to learn our
battle plans, how many men we train, what our weaknesses are," the king
bit out. "I will have his head for this."

"Your Majesty, I must protest.
At least give Sir Gareth the chance to defend himself and his honor."

"Why should I?" In his
impatience, Richard slipped out of the use of the royal "We," and his
hand had moved to the decorative sword he wore on his belt.

Sir Jasper stepped forward and
lowered his voice. "Because, sire, these men are former mercenaries, newly
come to your service. What assurances have we that they speak the truth?
Perhaps they only hope to gain your favor?"

Richard studied his knight for
several seconds before nodding briefly. "Very well, let us return to the
feast hall. We will get to the bottom of this now."

"Your Majesty?" Sir Jasper
said.

"What is it now, man? You try
Our
patience with your constant interruptions!"

"I beg your forgiveness, but
would it not be better to wait until the feast is over and the people have
dispersed? Surely Sir Gareth's service has earned him that much respect before
he is accused of treason."

Richard's voice was low and cutting
when he answered. "Surely
Our
service as king has
earned Us the respect of knowing immediately if one of Our knights has betrayed
Us."

Sir Jasper bowed and said, "Of
course, Your Majesty."

The knight and the four soldiers
followed Richard back into the feast hall where fruit pies were just being
served. Richard strode to the front of the raised dais on which the head table
sat. Within seconds, all voices in the hall were silenced. "Where is Sir
Gareth
ap
Morgan?" he boomed.

Behind the fireplace where he was
thinking of Elena, Gareth started, recognizing the king's voice. Dashing around
the great stone pillar, he called out, "Here, Your Majesty."

"Attend Us."

Gareth rushed to the front of the
hall. There was no award the king would be bestowing, no honor he had earned.
His pulse doubled its pace and he felt all his muscles tighten with tension
when he spotted the four mercenaries he had twice before run into, the last
time being in the streets of Aberstwyth. There could only be one reason the
king was calling him forward now. Bowing low before the king, Gareth said as
loudly and as confidently as he could, "Your Majesty?"

"Sir Knight, have you sworn
fealty to
Us
?"

"Yes, my king."

"And will you swear it to
Us
again? Tonight? Now?"

Gareth paused for the briefest
moment. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Richard held out the hand with his
signet ring and Gareth knelt and took it in his own damp palms, reciting his
vow of fealty to the king and to England. Before he could rise and back away,
hoping that was
all the
king desired of him, Richard
stopped him. "And now, Sir Gareth, We would ask another question of
you."

Gareth waited, his nerves and muscles
tightening in tandem. "Your Majesty?"

Richard looked down his nose at his
knight. "Have you betrayed
Us
and your vows of
fealty by attending a meeting of traitors in Wales?"

Gareth clenched his teeth tightly,
trying to steady himself, desperately trying to think of something to say that
would save his life. "I told Your Majesty that I was only at my father's
keep in Northern Wales."

"We remember very clearly what
you have told Us, Sir Gareth. But you see, these men here," Richard
gestured to the four rough men who stood to the side, "claim they ran into
you in Aberstwyth, several days travel from your father's keep, is it not? And,
coincidentally, where
We
have recently discovered a
meeting occurred to plan aid to the Tudor dog! What have you to respond?"

"I can only suppose they are
mistaken in identifying me as that man."

"Gareth is of a common height
and coloring for a Welshman, Your Majesty," interjected Sir Jasper.
"It could easily happen."

"Were there only one man who had
spotted him there,
We
might be inclined to believe
this claim. But there were four! Four men who saw you in the intimate company
of traitors!"

Gareth felt his stomach clench.
Before he could speak, Sir Jasper spoke up again.

"Your Majesty, I beg you to
consider the source of this story.
Four men, yes, but four
men who have not given you loyal service.
Four men who only just arrived
at Nottingham today, who may, in fact
be
spies
themselves! Surely Sir Gareth's previous service must stand him in your favor
now."

"Sir Jasper, your protestations
of what
We
must or must not think do not endear you to
Us. They do, in fact, lead
Us
to wonder if you are in
league with this man." Sir Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but Richard
stopped him. "We will hear no more. Guards! Take this man into custody. He
is no longer one of
Our
knights." Turning,
Richard walked around the table and resumed his seat. Gareth felt as if there
were no blood, no strength in his limbs for he could not move them. Could not
even feel them. When the two guards grabbed him by his arms--two guards he had
helped train--he was unaware of their painful grasp or that Richard was
stripping him of his knight's chain. Though all else was a blur, Gareth saw the
pained look on Sir Jasper's face as he left the hall.

The two guards said not a word to him
as they led him out of the main hall to a stone tower where the prisoners were
normally kept. One of the guards addressed a captain who was just coming out.
"Sir, His Majesty has another traitor for the tower."

"Well you'll have to take him to
the cellars below. We've no room for the prisoners we've got. I sent a man to
the cellars just this morning with two prisoners. He will still be on duty and
can take this one from you." The captain sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"I wish we could get these men tried and either hung or released. We've
too many men spending time on guard duty instead of preparing for war. The king
must be--" The man stopped as if suddenly realizing who he was talking to.
"Go about your business now," he said brusquely.

Gareth's guards dragged him back to
the main keep and hauled him down a flight of stairs that had not seen much
maintenance. The stones were cracked and slippery with dampness. One of the
guards cracked his head on a low hanging beam and cursed abruptly. When they
reached the dank-smelling cellars, a feeble torch illuminated the guard's post
where a beefy man dozed on a three-legged stool, his head leaning against the
damp
stone walls
. His snores were interrupted when one
of the guards kicked the man's stool.

"Wake up you lazy oaf! We've
another prisoner. Stand up and open one of the cells."

The
groggy
man saluted and fumbled with the keys at his waist. "Here," he said,
gesturing to the wooden door in front of him. "This one was emptied this
morning when the king ordered the man's execution." He opened the door and
stood aside while the other two guards pushed Gareth into the cramped cell.
Gareth stumbled in the darkness, coming to land on a musty smelling pallet of
straw. The door slammed shut behind him and he heard the bolt slide home.

The two king's guards berated the man
for his appearance and demeanor before leaving. Gareth heard the beefy guard
grumble about their treatment as he settled himself back on his stool. Within
seconds, the snoring had resumed.

Gareth wedged himself in the corner
of the small room, sitting on the old straw pallet. He forced himself to think
of the one thing that would not drive him insane with worry over his imminent
execution. He forced his mind to conjure Elena and the way she had rushed back
to kiss him. He allowed no other thoughts to enter his mind but those of their
passion-filled trip from Wales, the all too short nights they had spent in that
tiny room in Samuel's house. He refused to think of the bugs he was now bedding
down with and the way the axe would look as it whistled through the air on a
collision course with his neck. He thought only of Elena.