Spectre of the Sword (29 page)

Elizabeau nodded her
head in his direction. “My lord.”

David’s gaze lingered on
her a moment before looking to Rod. “It’s been a long time, de Titouan.  How
are the Marches?”

Rod grinned; he had
known David for years as his liege’s brother. “Cold and wet, like always.”

David smirked and
returned his attention to Rhys. “I need to speak with you,” he lowered his
voice. “Is there somewhere we may speak privately?”

Rhys shrugged. “This is
probably as good a place as any.  There are people in the tavern that could
overhear a conversation.”

David nodded, apparently
satisfied, and took a step closer to Rhys. “I came to warn you to be vigilant
about Eleanor.  We have reason to believe that not only did she capture Arthur,
but that she was behind his death as well.  If that is the case, then she will
be after the lady as Richard’s heir.  It is not only the king you must worry
about; now it is the both of them.”

Rhys absorbed the
information without a reaction.  But Elizabeau had heard it as well and she
lowered her gaze, staring at the ground, digesting the fact that both her uncle
and grandmother wanted her dead.  Even though, in her heart, she already knew
the truth, still, it was difficult to comprehend.

“So it is true,” she
murmured. “She killed my brother.”

David and Rhys looked at
her. “We do not know that for certain,” David said, somewhat gently. “But we
believe it is the truth.  We have information that suggests it.”

She looked up, her
attention between Rhys and David. “She will stop at nothing; you know this,”
she said frankly. “If she is on my scent, then she will keep on and on until I
am dead.”

“Not if we can prevent
it,” David replied steadily. “The key is getting you out of England.  We must
get you away from here.”

“Her betrothed is at
Whitebrook,” Rod stepped from between the chargers, knowing his brother was
probably cursing him for divulging the information to David. “We are returning
there this moment.  Once they are married, we can escort them to the ports of
Sudbrook or back to Caldicot and gain them safe passage out of England.”

David looked surprised.
“He’s at Whitebrook? What is he doing there? He’s supposed to be at Ogmore.”

“He said that his ship
was forced off course and they landed at Portsmouth,” Rod replied. “Once they
became land-based, the king’s men tried to capture them and they were forced to
flee. They went to London, found de Burgh, and he told them where the lady
was.  So they traveled to Whitebrook.”

David stared at him a
moment before shaking his head. “That was stupid,” he rumbled. “If John’s men
were following him, then he would lead them straight to the lady.  He put both
their lives in jeopardy by going to Whitebrook.”

“They have been there
for two days and we’ve seen no sign of John’s men.”

“Even so, it was
foolish,” he snapped. “You will not go back to Whitebrook with the lady. Rhys
and I will escort her on to Ogmore and you will return to Whitebrook alone and
escort the prince on to Ogmore.  We will have the priest waiting when he
arrives.”

Rod didn’t dare look at
his brother. He did the only thing he could do; he acknowledged the command,
mounted his horse, and made way for Whitebrook. David watched him ride off,
oblivious to Rhys’ tense body language and the fact that the lady was staring
at the ground. When Rod was nearly out of sight, he tossed his helm to one of
his men.

“I am famished,” he said
to Rhys. “Attend me inside. I need something to eat before we continue.”

Rhys’ jaw was ticking
furious as David walked past him, into the tavern. He took a couple of steps to
follow before realizing that Elizabeau wasn’t moving with them. He turned to
look at her, seeing that she was staring at the dirt.  He knew what she was
feeling without benefit of words.  He could feel it radiating off her like rays
off the sun. Silently, gently, he reached out and took her arm and pulled her
back into the inn.

David was already
seating himself, bellowing for food, when they entered.  Before they came
within earshot of him, Rhys whispered to Elizabeau.

“Ease yourself, angel,”
he said softly. “You must not give anything away with tears or actions.”

“I am fine, truly,” she
murmured in return. “’Tis you I am worried about.”

“No need.”

She did look at him,
then, her deep green eyes locking with his brilliant blue.  “Are you sure?”

His reply was to wink at
her and escort her to David’s table. He helped her to sit before taking the
chair next to her and lowering his bulk.  As David tore into the food before
him, odd sounds radiated from outside.  There was grunting, a few bangs, and
suddenly David and Rhys were on their feet.  Startled, Elizabeau stood up
quickly just as Rhys unsheathed the dual blades strapped to his back.  Then the
door flew open, men rushed in, and all was chaos.

Rhys swung the blades
with deadly precision, killing the first man who rushed at him with barely an
effort.  But his primary duty was to protect Elizabeau and he sheathed the
sword in his right hand, grabbing her.

“Come on,” he shielded
her with his big body as they ran to the rear of the tavern. “We need to get
out of here.”

He took her through the
kitchens, past the panicked barkeep and wife.  When he reached the rear door,
however, he held Elizabeau back and kicked the door open, charging out with
both sword swinging.  A man rushed at him and he cut him down within three
strokes.  Sheathing one of the swords again, he held out his hand to Elizabeau.

“Come on, angel,” he
encouraged urgently. “We must run.”

Elizabeau bolted out of
the tavern, taking Rhys’ hand in the process. Together they sprinted through
the yard and into the barn.  There was a leggy warmblood there, more than
likely belonging to one of the patrons of the inn, and Rhys grabbed the nearest
bridle.  It was too big for the horse’s long and narrow head and he had to take
valuable time to adjust it.  Just as he had it on the horse, the fighting
entered the yard between the tavern and the barn and he heard someone bellow
his name loudly.  

Rhys mounted the horse
bareback, no mean feat without a saddle for ballast.  Reaching down, he easily
pulled Elizabeau up and seated her behind him. 

“Hold on tight,” he
patted the hands that were wrapped tightly around his waist.  “Keep your head
down.”

He spurred the horse
forward but the animal was skittish and he almost lost his seat.  But he kept
firm, charging out through the open barn door and into a group of fighting
men.  But strangely, no one seemed to be fighting too much.  In fact, he saw
David standing with his sword leveled, staring off to the left.  Rhys
instinctively looked over his shoulder to see a soldier with a dagger to Rod’s
neck.

Rod was battered and
bruised; he had been ambushed before he had even cleared the town. Whoever had
tracked them had been well aware of Rod’s movements.  But their brilliant blue
eyes met, brother on brother, and Rod bellowed at him.

“Get out of here!”

Rhys didn’t hesitate; he
jammed his spurs into the side of the gelding and the horse tore off.  The
animal wasn’t as bulky or strong as a charger, but he was faster. Rhys drove
the horse from the tavern and back into the center of town.  Once near the main
road, he headed straight for the wharf.

He had no idea if they
were still being followed.  He could not take the time to look behind him or
the chance that they were. He could see the port in the near distance, the sea
glistening as the morning sun rose in the sky.  It looked peaceful and serene,
with a few clouds far off on the horizon.  There were several ships in port; he
could count at least five.   He drove the horse faster.

Rhys dodged in and out
of alleys and between yards.  If he was being pursued, he wanted to do his best
to lose him.   Erupting from a rear yard and onto a dirt street, he reined the
horse sharply to the right and the animal slipped and fell, dumping both Rhys
and Elizabeau into the dust.  The horse scrambled to its feel and bolted off as
Rhys picked Elizabeau up.

“Are you all right?” he
asked.

She nodded, hand against
her head. Truth was she had smacked it when the horse fell and was seeing
stars, but she would not tell him that. He was worried enough without thinking
she was injured.  

Rhys took her hand and
pulled her into another yard, this one being a metalworker.  There was wood,
peat and dung all over the yard for the hot fires.  They slipped out the other
side and ended up on the main wharf where three of the ships were docked.  One
of them was loading supplies and he could see lanky sailors in a line loading
items onto the boat.   Since it was the only ship with any activity, he assumed
it was preparing to sail and made his way towards it.

There were two sailors
on deck and another two on the dock.  Two men stood on the gangway, helping
load up supplies.  With Elizabeau in hand, Rhys walked up to one of the two men
on the dock.

“Is this ship leaving
soon?” he asked.

The man looked at him,
startled; his skin was darker from the constant exposure to the sun and salt
and he had very dark, long hair.  His gaze moved between Rhys and Elizabeau.

“Leave?” he repeated.

Rhys nodded. “Aye,
leave. Sail. Go out to sea.” When he realized the man didn’t completely
understand him, he made little wavy motions with his hand in the direction of
the water.

The man understood what
he was asking. “Vela, vela,” the man said. “Si, presto.”

Rhys didn’t understand
the language. It was the native of Rome.  “Do you understand my words?” he
asked, disheartened.

“I do, sir,” said the
second man on the dock, walking up to them and wiping of his hands. “What is it
you want?”

Rhys focused on the
short man with the very deep voice. “Where are you going?”

The man nodded out to
sea. “First to the port of Bude in Cornwall and then on to Spain. Why?”

“My wife and I would
like to gain passage to Bude. Would that be possible?”

The man looked
dubiously. “We are loaded with goods and supplies. We do not have room for
passengers.”

“I will make it worth
your while.”

The man eyed him a
moment before turning to the man next to him and conversing with him in
Italian.  There was a good deal of arguing going on as Rhys and Elizabeau
watched.  Elizabeau kept looking over her shoulder, waiting for the king’s men
to come hurling out at them but, so far, the streets remained relatively
quiet.  She was as nervous as a cat while Rhys was quite calm.  In fact, even
in the face of his brother’s beating and murderers all around, he had been
nothing but completely collected.  As the two men argued in a foreign language,
Elizabeau pressed up against Rhys for comfort and his left arm went around her
tightly.  She immediately felt better.

After more arguing, the
man who spoke their language turned to them. “All right,” he said. “But the
price will be high. Five gold crowns. Each.”

“What?” Elizabeau
blurted.  “That is robbery. It is piracy!”

The man looked at her
lazily. “Then find another boat.”

She opened her mouth to
retort but Rhys turned her around, away from the boat so they could converse in
private.   While she fumed, he put both hands on her arms and bent down to look
her in the eye.

“Not to worry about the
price,” he said softly. “I am only concerned with getting you out of here. I
would pay the Devil with my soul if I thought it would see you through to
safety.”

She lost some of her
fury. “But we do not have any money.”

His brilliant blue eyes
twinkled. “Aye, we do.”

She followed him back
across the wharf to the area they had just come from.   Elizabeau recognized
the metal worker’s lean-to and they paused in front of it. 

“Stay here,” he
instructed. “I’ll be right inside so if you see any danger heading our way,
scream.”

“Why can’t I come in?”
she frowned.

“Because I want you to
wait here.”

“What are you going to
do?”

He unsheathed one of his
swords, taking a long look at it. “See how much the man will give me for my
swords.”

Her eyes widened. “Nay,”
she breathed. “You cannot do that. Those are beautiful weapons and….”

He bent down and kissed
her swiftly. “Just stay here. I will be right back.”

She opened her mouth to
dispute him but he ducked inside, away from any further conversation.   He had
wanted her to stay outside so she wouldn’t argue with him in front of the
metalworker. Frustrated, she sighed sharply and turned to look at the sea,
watching the men continue to load up supplies on the Italian galley. She had
never been on the sea before and wondered fleetingly if she would become
sea-sick.  Her mother had told her a story once of being violently ill on a sea
voyage. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun, she watched
the sea gulls as they rode the drafts against the sea.  In spite of the
harrowing circumstances, it was shaping up to be a surprisingly beautiful day.