Breath of Heaven (2 page)

Home
…When Mathias said home he meant Myrddin, where his father, mother, and sister resided. It was the place where Rhys was born, the place where his mother and then his father threw themselves from the battlements and died on the rocks before the sea carried their bodies away. It was the place where his grandmother taught him about the responsibilities that would be his when he achieved knighthood.

It was not his home. There was no such place.

“Yes,” Rhys said. “Home. If the king allows it.”

Mathias grinned.

“Go,” Rhys said. He resisted the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair. It would not do to encourage the lad or show him any weakness. Mathias was given into his care to become a knight, not to be indulged.

Mathias went off to do as he was bid. Rhys could not help noticing the jaunty hop in his step. Mathias had yet to learn that a subject’s desires counted for naught without the blessing of the king. They could very well be stuck here for weeks upon end if the king chose to keep them.

The ice clung to Rhys’s hair and covered his leather-clad shoulders as he dashed across the bailey to the
stable. He slipped and caught himself as he came under the eaves. The shelter was crowed with servants huddling around a small fire in the hope that they would not be called out to perform some menial task in the miserable weather.

The interior of the stable was warmer. A fat orange cat washed its hip upon the top of a barrel beside a small brazier of coals. Soft brown eyes peered at him from heads of every color. Rhys walked down the row of stalls to where his black stallion, Yorath, was stabled. The great horse tossed his head and clomped a plate-sized hoof against the front of his stall as if he could knock it loose and escape.

Rhys rubbed his hand up the animal’s straight nose and beneath his forelock. Yorath’s ears swiveled back and forth and Rhys murmured words of comfort to the restless beast. “Soon,” he promised. “Soon we will leave this place.”

“Milord,” a voice said. It was Han, unchanged as always.

Rhys had never seen Han without a tight wool hat on his head. In the summer it was uncomfortably out of place, but now it served to protect him from the cold and freezing rain. As always, it covered his eyebrows and came over his ears. A long braid hung down his back, and his skin was strangely pale. He showed no hint of a beard; indeed his skin was as unblemished as a child’s. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, and oddly translucent. Han’s brows, straight and slanted slightly upward instead of curving over his eyes, only added to the mystery surrounding the messenger.

When Rhys was younger, Han had frightened him,
although the servant had never given him any reason to fear.

“I hope all is well with your master,” Rhys said as he took from Han the leather case that held the missive. “This is not the usual time for our exchange.”

“My master bade me wait for your reply,” Han said.

His response was not what Rhys expected. Usually Han relayed word for word what Lord Edward wrote upon the parchment. Now he just stepped back as if to wait. Rhys slid the parchment from the case. Lord Edward’s seal was upon it and he stepped into the dim light cast from a high window as he broke it.

I have need of you to repay in kind a deed well done.

There was nothing else except the date. He looked at Han, who remained in the shadows. “Are there any words to go with this message?” he asked.

“One,” Han said. “Hurry.”

“I must get permission from the king,” Rhys reminded him.

“My master always says God will help those who help themselves.”

Rhys had not talked to God since he was a child, when his grandmother insisted he spend several hours on his knees each day. Most of that time he’d used praying for the time to end.

“Milord,” Mathias said as he rushed into the stable. “The king requests your presence immediately.”

One problem solved. He would not have to request an audience. Yet the abruptness of his summoning did not bode well. It must be because of the women.

“Wait here,” he said to Han. “You can sleep in the
stall if you are not afraid,” he added. “I will send Mathias with word when I am able to depart.”

Han bowed quickly and Rhys was amazed to see him slip into the stall without fear. He was still more amazed when he realized that Yorath, who was very particular about who entered his stall, did not seem to mind his presence there in the least. He did not have time to dwell on his surprise, however. He had more important things on his mind. As he walked out of the stable and into the freezing rain, he felt as if he were up to his neck in a very deep cauldron and the king was not above stirring the stew for his own enjoyment.

R
hys changed into his best clothing: a finely sewn white linen chainse, a velvet tunic of a rich burgundy over gray chausses, and his finest black leather boots. He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. He strapped his sword and scabbard to his side and took a moment to peer into the silver-painted glass at his reflection. Eyes as dark as night stared back at him. Eyes that were, for once, full of worry.

What did Edward expect of him? Why had the king summoned him? He had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with Marcella, Jane, and the earlier events of the day. What else could it be?

Mathias, hastily scrubbed, was also wearing his finest, a tunic of sapphire blue over brown chausses. The color matched his bright blue eyes and complemented the golden hair that curled about his ears. He held Rhys’s mantle, a deep midnight blue with a silver fur lining. If he was about to be cast into the pit, at least he would be warm.

“I will look like a peacock,” Rhys said as he flung the mantle over his shoulder and raised his chin while Mathias attached a huge ruby brooch that had been his father’s.

“Better a peacock than a pea, milord,” Mathias said.

Rhys arched his brow. “Is there supposed to be a meaning to those words?” he asked.

Mathias’s cheeks turned pink as he grinned ruefully. “I thought the occasion called for something profound.” He shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“Let us hope that you are better with a sword than with your wits,” Rhys replied.

“Is it not your duty to instruct me in both?” Mathias asked.

“You presume much,” Rhys said as he resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “And fortunately for you, I have not the time to beat you for impudence.”

“Yes, milord,” Mathias said humbly.

Rhys adopted Mathias’s attitude of humbleness as they entered Henry’s throne room. He was not encouraged when he saw Marcella and Jane, both dressed in their most flattering gowns and both flanking the woman who had accompanied Jane earlier. Her name came to him now. Estella, a distant cousin of the queen and stewardess of the ladies who were under Henry’s protection. Several of Henry’s advisers stood about also. Of them all, Rhys only saw one friendly face. Peter of Salisbury, Lord Edward’s former squire and Rhys’s longtime friend. That was good. He needed to speak to Peter of Edward’s summons. He needed to know what Edward’s message meant.

Rhys bowed low before Henry when he was announced.

“I have heard that a fox has been loose among the hens,” Henry said. His face was serious, but the eyes above his reddish beard twinkled merrily.

At that moment, Rhys knew he was in deep trouble. Henry needed a distraction from his long-standing battle with Thomas Beckett and the Church, and Rhys had a feeling he was about to become the king’s amusement.

“Have you been generous with your…affections…Lord de Remy?” Henry asked.

“My grandmother always taught me that it is better to give than to receive,” Rhys declared loudly enough for all to hear. He must tread lightly. It would do him no good to insult the character of either woman.

“Then we must thank the good lady for teaching you charity in all areas of your life,” Henry replied, quickly joining into the game. Polite laughter went through the throng as Henry acknowledged Rhys’s bawdy attempt at humor. “As we all know, you have always shown yourself to be generous in every undertaking, whether on the battlefield, here at court, upon your lands…and now with these new”—the king cleared his throat meaningfully—“conquests.”

Rhys bowed at the compliment, yet kept his eyes upon the king.

“It has been lonely for you all these years, has it not, Lord de Remy?” the king asked. “A life without the comfort of family is not an easy thing to bear.”

“I have grown accustomed to my solitude,” Rhys answered cautiously. “My country and king have taken the place of family in my heart.”

“A fine sentiment indeed,” Henry said. “I have found you to be ever faithful in all that you do and therefore most deserving.”

Rhys’s stomach sank. He was fairly certain he did not want to hear what it was the king felt he deserved.

“It is time, nay, past time, for you to marry, my very deserving and devoted Lord de Remy.”

Rhys swallowed hard as the king casually lifted a hand. Marcella stepped forward and Estella prodded Jane in the back so that she jumped forward with a small squeal. Both women kept their eyes demurely downcast and their hands folded before them. Marcella’s shoulders and back seemed rigid, while Jane’s trembled, whether from fear or shame, Rhys could not tell which.

“I will give you the chance to choose a bride,” Henry said. “I gladly submit two of my wards for your consideration. The lovely Lady Marcella, and the equally lovely Lady Jane. Both untimely widowed and in possession of substantial lands and riches. Each a fitting prize for a devoted servant.” Henry looked at Rhys, who tried his best to suppress the shiver that went down his spine. He was caught in a neat little trap. He cared for neither of the women, nor did he care to be saddled with a wife. Yet he must obey the king. Still, he would not be a willing victim. Not if he could help it.

“I am not deserving of so fine a gift,” Rhys said. “And I find I cannot choose between two equally perfect ladies.”

“But I insist,” Henry replied calmly. “It is time for you to wed, Rhys. I will give you leave to choose your bride where you will. But mark my words, you will choose a bride, or I will choose one for you.”

“If I may, milord,” Rhys said as an idea suddenly came to him. “I have just this morning received word from a faithful servant of yours, Lord Edward Chandler. He has need of me. I owe him a great debt and it is time for me to pay.”

“What debt is this?” Henry asked.

“He saved my life,” Rhys said.

“Ah yes,” Henry replied. “At Anjou. He snatched you from a pit of mud.”

Rhys took a moment to wonder if Renauld was present at the gathering. It was due to his push that Rhys had found himself drowning in that pit of mud. He’d never said anything to anyone about the circumstances of how he’d found himself in such desperate straits, and he was not about to now. It would become common knowledge in God’s due time.

“Yes, milord,” Rhys replied. “I beg your permission to go to Lord Edward, for he bade me come quickly.”

“I have always held Lord Edward in the highest esteem,” Henry said. “And have long missed seeing him. I bid you go and see to his needs at once and report back to me on his well-being.”

Rhys bowed.

“And when you return, you will have made your choice,” Henry reminded him. “A bride for Lord de Remy. By the first day in February,” he added.

“As you wish,” Rhys said, and once again bowed. He cast a glance toward the women. Both seemed displeased with him. He must choose one of them, and soon. Which would it be? He would think upon it while undertaking the journey to Aubregate.

What was it exactly that Lord Edward expected of him? Rhys wondered. As he backed away from the king and made his exit, he saw Peter making his way behind the onlookers to meet him. Mayhap his friend could shed some light upon the mystery of Lord Edward’s summons.

“It seems you are ever falling into the morass, my
friend,” Peter said when they were both free of the king’s chamber and Rhys had bid Mathias to prepare for their journey.

“Neither time was intentional, I assure you,” Rhys replied.

“So you accidentally fell and slipped inside two of the king’s wards?” Peter asked with a grin.

“Nay,” Rhys replied with his own sheepish grin. “Those slips were quite intentional and most enjoyable. The problem arose when one caught me with the other.”

“I am surprised you are still standing,” Peter said. “My own wife has assured me that I would be missing a part I hold most dear should I be caught in similar circumstance.”

“Which is why I have avoided the married state so far,” Rhys said. “I have no desire to be trapped by feminine whim.”

“There are many benefits to be had also,” Peter said. “Do not dismiss marriage until you have at least attempted it.”

“I shall keep that in mind as it seems I will be wed very soon,” Rhys said dryly. “Have you news from Lord Edward?”

Peter shook his head. “Not since a month past. You know his health is not good,” he added.

“I did not. In truth, he has not shared anything with me through the years beyond his wishes for my continued good health and his hopes to hear from me again the following year. What I’ve learned of him I have gleaned from those who know him. All speak highly of Lord Edward.” Rhys watched Peter’s eyes closely as he asked the next question. “But is it true
what is said of his daughter? That she is disfigured in some way?”

Peter shrugged eloquently. “There are those who talk nonsense of things they do not understand.” After giving that mysterious answer, he quickly changed the subject before Rhys could question him further. “Did Edward offer a reason for his summons?”

“He said, ‘I have need of you to repay a deed well done.’”

“He means to collect the debt you owe him,” Peter said. “Do you have any idea of how you are to repay him?”

“I do not, and I must admit it troubles me,” Rhys said. “There is only one way to find out what it is Lord Edward desires of me—answer his summons. I must be off, and quickly, as milord has requested.”

“Good journey to you,” Peter said as he clasped his hand on Rhys’s shoulder. “Please tell milord that I am ever his faithful servant.”

“As am I.”

“You will invite me to the wedding,” Peter added with a wry grin as they shook hands.

“In honest truth, I hope by the time I return, it will be forgotten.”

Peter’s eyes darted over Rhys’s shoulder. “In honest truth, I will remind you that some will not let it be forgotten.”

Rhys glanced over his shoulder and saw Jane watching him.

“Go,” Peter said. “I will keep the lady from distracting you from your purpose this day.”

“Thank you.” Rhys tried his best not to run from the hall as he heard Peter greet Jane behind his back.
He felt somewhat a coward, but he was also wise enough to know when to retreat.

If he’d been so careful in all his dealings, he would not now be in this fine mess. As it was, he would be grateful for his escape and hope that fate would lead him to a solution. Perhaps he would find one in Aubregate. Rhys nearly stopped and returned to Peter when he realized his friend had not answered his question about Edward’s daughter. “It seems I will have to find out firsthand when I get there.”