Spectre of the Sword (21 page)

“You’re as big and
unwieldy as an ox,” he shot back. “What in the hell are you eating that you
would get so big?”

Rhys took him around the
neck and flipped him onto his back.   Rod groaned as his brother’s substantial
weight came down on him.

“Do not make light of my
size,” he growled, his hand around Rod’s neck. “I could quash you like a bug
and not raise a sweat.”

In spite of herself,
knowing full well what Rod’s appearance meant, Elizabeau smiled at the tussling
brothers.

“Rhys,” she said softly.
“Is this the brother with the extra set of teeth?”

Both brothers looked up
at her; Rhys grinned, hearing his words from the story he had told the merchant
at the Blond Gazelle.

“I told you he would
punch me in the nose if he knew I told such tales about him.”

Before Elizabeau could
reply, Rod propped himself up on an elbow. “Extra set of teeth? What nonsense
is this?”

Rhys just laughed. Then
he stood up and shoved his brother back to the ground when the man tried to
rise.  Rod tackled his brother’s legs and sent him to the ground and they
started wrestling again.

“This,” Rhys grunted as
Rod’s foot found its way into a soft spot against his abdomen, “is my brother,
Rod, who does not happen to have an extra set of teeth.  Rod, this is…,” he
grunted again as Rod shoved him in the face to keep him down when he tried to
lift his head, “is the Lady Julianna. My wife.”

Rod suddenly stopped
struggling with his brother and his eyes flew open wide.  Shocked, he looked to
the lady, back to his brother, and promptly wrapped his hands around his
brother’s neck.

“You married and you did
not think to tell me?” he demanded.

Rhys coughed, swept a
big fist at his brother’s head, and sent the man crashing to the ground.  He
stood up, rubbing his neck as his brother shook the stars from his eyes.

“It only just happened,”
he said

Rod blinked several
times and slowly pushed himself up from the ground.  His blue eyes were focused
on Elizabeau.

“Lady du Bois,” he
greeted formally, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to the
family. But you picked the wrong brother to marry.”

“Oh?” Elizabeau lifted
an eyebrow. “But Dylan is far too young.”

Rhys snorted; so did
Rod. “I did not mean Dylan,” he looked at his snickering brother. “But I can
see that my brother has you bewitched.  There was never a chance for the rest
of us.”

Elizabeau’s smile was
fading as she looked at Rhys, wishing at that moment that this ruse was the
truth.  She wished it with all her heart.

“Nay,” she said softly,
her eyes on Rhys. “There never was.”

Rhys caught the tone,
the look, and his joviality faded. All he could see was how much she meant what
she said. It thrilled him and broke his heart at the same time.  Not wanting a
recurrence of the earlier tears, he went to take her by the elbow and changed
the subject.

“We need to find Uncle
Rhett,” he said, leading Elizabeau and his brother towards the house. “He is
the one who sent for you.”

Rod brushed the dust off
his mail, watching it billow up in clouds. “So he did. Do you know why? All he
said was that it was of great importance.”

“You’ll have to ask
him,” Rhys said casually. Then he changed the subject. “How is grandfather, by
the way?”

“As cantankerous as
ever.”

Rhys didn’t reply; they
were at the door and he opened it for Elizabeau, shoving Rod out of the way
when his brother tried to enter after her.  Rod just grinned and followed his
brother’s enormous form into the warm, dark hall.

Rhett was sitting in his
familiar spot at the table near the hearth. He always sat there to warm his old
bones. After Rod was hugged by his mother, his sister and younger brother, he
moved to his uncle and received a strong handshake and a clap on the back. 
Elizabeau stood next to Rhys, watching Rod work the room; he was very
congenial, his smile very easy and his laugh quick.  He had an outgoing
personality and a very charming way about him.  Elizabeau could see that the
man probably had more than his share of admirers, for he was quite charismatic
to accompany his stunning good looks.

As Rod conversed with
Rhett, Elizabeau’s gaze moved up to Rhys.  He was listening to the conversation
between his brother and his uncle, absorbing every word that was said. 
Elizabeau studied his strong profile; whereas Rod was a strikingly handsome
man, Rhys had that and more.  The added element with Rhys was a smoldering
sensuality just below the surface that lingered in those brilliant blue eyes.
He could turn knees to mush with just a glance or set hearts to fluttering with
a look. It occurred to Elizabeau that she probably wasn’t the only lady who had
succumbed to Rhys’ charms; she could, in fact, hardly blame them.  But she had
been the lucky one. He returned the favor.

Over at the table, Rhett
was demanding that his nephew help him to stand.  Elizabeau and Rhys followed
as Rhett took Rod’s arm and walked the man back out into the courtyard.  He
kept up a running conversation, chatting about the weather, some mischief he
and his brother, Berwyn, got into when they were young, and anything else that
came to mind.  Only when the door to the manse closed and they were well out
into the courtyard did he stop chattering.  Now they could speak in private.

He faced his younger
nephew. “Now,” he said, his voice low. “You are surely wondering why I sent for
you.  Let me assure you that this is nothing to be trifled with. It is a matter
of the greatest importance.”

Rhys knew what his uncle
was going to say and, until a few minutes ago, had been in full agreement.  Now
he was not.

“Rod,” he went to stand
next to Rhett, fixing his brother in the eye.  “Lady Julianna is not my wife. 
And her name is not Julianna.”

Rod’s dark eyebrows
lifted; he folded his arms over his chest, an interested and bemused look on
his face. “Is that so?” he looked at Elizabeau and winked. “So there is hope
for me after all.”

Rhett rolled his eyes
and growled but Rhys did not react.  He continued. “This is the Lady Elizabeau
Treveighan.  Her father is Geoffrey of Brittany.  Her half-brother is Arthur of
Brittany.  Arthur was murdered in Paris two weeks ago.  The Lady Elizabeau is
his successor.  We must keep her alive until she can marry a Teutonic prince
for the purpose of wresting the throne away from John.”

Rod just looked at him. 
Then he burst out laughing. “A good story, brother. You almost had me believing
it.”

Rhett shook his head
before Rhys could reply. “Idiot,” the old man snapped softly. “He is telling
the truth.  This woman is the next queen of England.”

Rod snorted a moment or
two longer, but the expression on both Rhys’ and Rhett’s face slowed his
humor.   Then he looked at Elizabeau, who gazed back at him quite seriously. 
It began to occur to him that they were not fooling him.  Astonishment overtook
his manner.

“Are you serious?” he
hissed, uncrossing his arms. “If that is true, then what in the world is she
doing here?”

“I am her escort,” Rhys
said quietly. “We’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks dodging
assassins.  De Lohr ordered me to take her to Whitebrook, the least obvious place
any of the king’s murderers would look. I am to escort her to Ogmore Castle by
the end of the week so that she may rendezvous with her prince.”

Rod stared at Elizabeau
as if just seeing her for the first time. He was, for a moment, speechless.

“So why did you send for
me?” he turned back to his brother. “What would you have me do?”

Rhett opened his mouth
but Rhys stopped him. “You and I will escort the lady to Ogmore,” he said
quietly. “I fear that I cannot do this alone. I need help.  This is a job for
an entire army or a pair of men, but it is too overwhelming for just one.  I
need your sword, Rod.”

Rhett looked at his
nephew with shock but said nothing; this was Rhys’ mission and if he had
changed his mind and decided to escort the lady on to Ogmore, then he would not
dispute him no matter how bad the decision appeared to him.  Knowing what he
knew, seeing all he had over the past several days, told him that Rhys needed
to let Rod take the lady on alone.  But Rhys wasn’t thinking with his head; he was
thinking with his heart, a sometimes deadly mistake.

Rod, however, was
oblivious to the turmoil going on and quite intrigued by the idea; the twinkle
of adventure flickered in his eyes.  He did not get much chance sequestered on
the Marches with at his grandfather’s garrison.

“And you shall have it,”
he said smoothly, turning to Elizabeau.  He bowed his head to her in an
apologetic manner. “My lady, you will forgive my fast tongue. Had I known who
you really were, I would never have jested with you so.”

Elizabeau moved to stand
next to Rhys, her dark green eyes fixed on the handsome younger brother. “No
apologies necessary,” she assured him. “I rather enjoyed your joviality.  Your
brother is far too serious sometimes. It was a nice change of pace.”

Rod smiled broadly,
those big white teeth gleaming in the weak sun.   Before he could reply, sounds
of thunder echoed in the distance.   Rhys and Rod were instantly on alert to
the approaching horses, noting that they were coming from the southwest. Rhett
moved put himself between the lady and the impending threat, his knight
training instinctive even at his age.  Although he couldn’t do much more than
strike them with his cane, still, he would do his best to protect her.

As they watched the
road, a group of men appeared, riding their mounts hard.  It was perhaps ten
knights, all riding in a well-armed cluster. Rhys did not recognize them and
his instincts kicked in; he had to assume they were hostile. Given the
importance of his mission, he could assume nothing else.  Lives depended on it.
Grabbing Elizabeau, he broke for the stables.

“Rod,” he snapped. “Give
us time to get away.”

Rod realized the
seriousness of the situation by his brother’s reaction. “Are they hostile?”

Rhys was already
running. “I cannot suppose otherwise.”

Rod’s broadsword was
still in the stable on his charger and he ran after his brother.   The three of
them raced for the barn where, once inside, both Rhys and Rod went for Rod’s
charger.  Rhys’ horse was unsaddled while Rod’s was fully dressed.   Moreover,
Rhys’ weapons and most of his armor were inside the manse.  There wasn’t time
to get it.  Rod handed the reins of his big brown charger over to his brother.

“Go,” he commanded
quietly. “I need my sword, but there are more weapons on the saddle.  You will
be able to protect yourself.”

Rhys didn’t argue; he
grabbed Elizabeau and plopped her into the saddle.  He mounted swiftly behind
her, feeling very naked and vulnerable without most of his armor. But he also
felt a sense of panic as he’d not felt in years.  But it wasn’t for himself; it
was for Elizabeau.  There was more determination to protect her than ever.

“Rod,” he spared his
brother a moment before he crashed through the back wall of the barn and fled.
“Just buy us a little time.  But make sure mother and the family are not harmed
in any way.   In fact, I would suggest you have them barricade the house
immediately.”

Rod merely nodded
sharply, swinging his sword in a skilled, deadly maneuver in anticipation of a
good flight.  With a brief nod at Elizabeau, he raced back into the courtyard.

Rhys couldn’t give his
family a second thought although his natural protective instincts were
raging.   He would have to trust Rod, Rhett and Renard to protect them
adequately.  With a silent prayer for their safety, he spurred Rod’s charger
forward and through the doorway that was on the east side of the barn.  From
there, they could escape unseen from the road and on into the woods. 

Bursting forth from the
small door, he directed the charger to the northeast, straight into a heavy
cluster of trees.   Clinging to him, Elizabeau turned to catch a glimpse of the
armed men as they closed in on the manse, terrified of their identity and
praying they would not harm Rhys’ family in their determination to get to her. 
She knew what her uncle was capable of; she h ad been privy to it over the past
two weeks.   But the trees closed off her view and all she could see was
foliage, so she turned back around and buried her face in Rhys’ back .

He was warm and solid and
comforting.  She could feel him breathing in her embrace.  Closing her eyes,
she began to pray fervently for the de Titouan family.   God help them.

She’d been found.

***

Rod wasn’t quite sure
what to make of them.  They were Teutonic, that was for certain; they spoke
Germanic and he could not understand a word of it.  But two of them spoke his
language, with a heavy accent, and it was those two he attempted to communicate
with. 

One man was short,
broad, with a bushy mustache and the other was tall and slender with long blond
hair.  The taller and blonder of the pair was apparently in charge of the
entire party, as he had commanded his group to a halt at the sight of Rod,
Renard and Rhett standing in the bailey of Whitebrook, prepared for battle.  In
fact, the man had ordered the horses stopped at the road, dismounted with his
stocky counterpart, and the two of them had walked the rest of the way to the
manor.  Rhett seemed to be willing to listen to them more than Rod was, but it
soon became evident they merely wished to parley.