Spectre of the Sword (39 page)

David felt sick. His
hands came down and he looked away from Conrad’s knight, utterly ill by what he
was hearing. Suddenly, a great deal seemed to make sense and he put his hands
over his face as if to wipe away the horrifying knowledge. Since the day they
had taken charge of the lady, John’s men had kept pace with them with few
exceptions. They were always turning up and David had always known there had
been a traitor in their midst, although he could never guess who it was.  Now,
he realized that he knew.

“Jesus,” he breathed.
“Is it possible? Was Lawrence all the time?”

“What was all the time?”

David looked at the
warrior, knowing he could never explain it all.  In fact, he was embarrassed
to; he was embarrassed to admit that the great Christopher de Lohr had a
traitor in his midst and it had been someone very close, someone with access to
confidential information.   Lawrence had known everything.  He still knew everything.

Now he was in Ludlow
with Rhys, Radcliffe and Lady Elizabeau.  He was undoubtedly there to blow
Rhys’ cover and there wasn’t a damn thing David could do about, at least not at
the moment.   Still, the very thought brought terror and fury all at once. Rhys
was in for a betrayal of the greatest magnitude where his life, and that of the
lady’s, would hang in the balance. David could not undo what Lawrence had done,
but he could do his very best to prevent what he could.  Yet he needed help. 
He began to feel a sense of desperation and determination like he had never
experienced before.

“What is your name?”
David finally asked the man.

“Geist.”

David gestured to the
sword still near his gut. “Geist, if you put that down, I will tell you
everything you need to know. And I swear it will be the truth.”

Geist eyed him the
moment before lowering the sword. “Speak, then.”

David told him all of
it.

***

Lewis was standing in
the foyer when Rhys descended the stairs, tricky business considering he had
Elizabeau clinging to his torso.  It threw his balance off and he was terrified
that he was going to fall and land atop her.  The event of de Lacy’s captain
standing in his path was not something he had bargained for and he struggled to
remain calm as he came face to face with the man.  It began to concern him that
Lewis was looking at him strangely but he attributed that to his anxiety.
Mayhap he was imagining things.

Lewis just stood there,
looking at him for a very long time.  Then, he nodded his head slightly. “Well,”
he said slowly. “Did you see the lady?”

Rhys nodded. “I did, my
lord. I explained the way of things to her.”

“I see,” Lewis began to
eye him strangely again. “What did you tell her?”

Rhys was becoming
increasingly uneasy as the captain’s gaze moved over him. “I explained the
event of the sword stroke; the first is meant to kill, the second to separate
her head from her body.   She will feel momentary pain but it should be over
quickly.”

Lewis wasn’t look at his
face; he was looking at his big torso. “Do you believe that?”

“Believe what, my lord?”

“That the pain is
momentary?”

For reasons he could not
explain, Rhys’ palms began to sweat. Something in the way that Lewis was
looking at him. “In truth, I do not,” he replied. “I believe there is still consciousness
after the head is separated from the body.  I had one man, a marquis, actually
try to speak. His eyes remained open and his mouth moving for several minutes
after the job was completed.”

Lewis was still focused
on his torso, the size of his enormous hands.  Then, his gaze returned to his
face. “Enough of the games,” he said quietly. “You are Rhys du Bois and you are
not here to execute the lady. You are here to take her.”

To his credit, Rhys
didn’t change expression even though his heart slammed against his ribs.  He
could hear the blood pulsing through his ears. How does he know this?  He began
to think that Edward had somehow betrayed him even though the man had never
been out of his sight.  Somehow, someway, he had been betrayed. But by whom? He
continued to gaze impassively at Lewis who, oddly enough, did not seem
particularly enraged.  He seemed almost calm about it.  Rhys was about to reply
when a man entered the foyer from the solar off to the left; Rhys caught the
movement and looked to see who it was.  Even then, his face did not change
expression.  Even when he knew that he was as good as dead.

Lawrence de Beckett
stood just outside the solar door, his white-blue eyes focused intently on
Rhys.   Without a word, Lawrence walked up to him, focusing on the man who was
at least a head taller than he. As he moved, soldiers emerged from the shadows,
armed to the teeth.  Rhys counted at least eight; there were more behind him,
he was sure.  The closer they loomed, the more his heart sank.  He could hardly
believe what he was seeing.

Lawrence paused in front
of him, gazing steadily into his brilliant blue eyes.  There was much more in
his eyes than words could ever express, a painful symphony of unspoken language
that told Rhys everything he needed to know.  It was heartbreaking to be a
party to the betrayal at hand.  When Lawrence spoke, it was to Lewis.

“You had better have
someone check to make sure the lady is in her room,” he said. “And you had
better bring Radcliffe down here. He is a part of this.”

At Lewis directive, four
soldiers went bolting up the stairs.  Lawrence remained fixed on Rhys.

“Are they going to find
her up there?” he asked quietly. “Or are they wasting their time?”

Beneath the cloak,
Elizabeau was in darkness. But she could hear some what was being said, or at
least she could make out a few words of it.  She had heard Lewis’ voice, soft
and deep, and then a second voice she did not recognize.  She knew that Rhys
had been stopped and she was struggling to maintain her grip around the man;
she literally had her arms and legs wrapped around him, squeezing him with all
her might in a strong effort to hang on.  He had his double-scabbard on his
back and the straps that criss-crossed his torso made good leverage to hold on
to, but with her sweating palms, her grip was beginning to slip.

She was anxious to begin
with but with her sweating palms and slipping grip, she was beginning to
panic.  Why was Rhys still standing there, talking to the enemy? Why wasn’t he
moving?  She tried to tighten her grip and poke him in the ribs at the same
time, prodding him to move on.  But the man remained still.  And her grip
continued to slip.

Rhys could feel her
poking at him, knowing she probably couldn’t hear much under the heavy cloak.  
And he could also feel her slipping, slowly but surely, and there wasn’t a
thing he could do to help her. If he tried, it would draw attention to her and
he was trying to keep the attention diverted.  And for the moment, his
attention was riveted to Lawrence in disbelief and shock.

“Do I know you, my
lord?” Rhys tried to maintain the illusion, perhaps casting doubt back on
Lawrence in the eyes of those around them. Perhaps if he bluffed enough…. “Have
we met?”

Lawrence smiled wryly.
“Many times, my old friend,” he replied.  Then he shook his head. “It is of no
use, Rhys. The captain knows who you are and why you are here.  Make it easy on
yourself and on the lady.”

“Make what easy, my
lord?”

Lawrence lifted his
white eyebrows. “You are outnumbered, Rhys. The battle is over. Your mission is
finished.”

Rhys began to feel sick.
The weight of betrayal was weighing more heavily down on him, pressing him,
causing his stomach to churn and his heart to twist painfully. He was still
having trouble grasping it even though he knew that, for all intents and
purposes, he had been captured.   And Elizabeau with him.  But he would not go
down without a fight.

In a flash, a massive
hand shot out and he grabbed Lawrence around the neck. The soldiers surrounding
him unleashed their broadswords to the deadly hum of metal but Lawrence
shouted.

“Nay!” he bellowed to
the men, his face growing red as Rhys gradually cut off his blood supply. He
focused on the man with his hand around his neck. “Kill me and I can assure you
that the lady will be dealt with in the most painful way possible. Is that what
you wish?”

Rhys stared at him, his
jaw flexing dangerously. After an eternity of gazing into white-blue eyes, Rhys
knew that Lawrence meant what he said.  God help him, he knew that he was
cornered. They were all cornered.  The only thing that prevented him from
attempting to fight his way out of the predicament was the lady attached to his
torso.  Were it not for her, he would have already spilled blood.  Surrender
began to slowly overtake him, knowing he had no choice but to lay down his
arms.  He couldn’t take the chance that Elizabeau would be injured or killed in
the melee that would surely ensue if he were to resist.  God help him, he knew
it was over.

Slowly, he released
Lawrence and watched the big knight step back and take a big, blustery breath. 
Around his waist, Elizabeau suddenly slipped and he grabbed her before she
could fall to the ground.  Surrendering to the inevitable, he focused on gently
lowering her to the ground and removing the cloak from around her head.  He
wouldn’t at anything, or anyone, else but her.

 When the mussy
golden-red hair came into focus, the first thing Elizabeau saw was Rhys’ pale
face.

“What has happened?” she
asked him before she looked around.  Then, she caught sight of a few soldiers
at his back with their swords drawn and she yelped with fright, whirling around
to find herself face to face with Lewis.  She instinctively pressed back
against Rhys. “What… what goes on here?”

Lewis was looking at her
with his usual impassive expression. “It would seem, my lady, that this escape
attempt has failed also.”

Elizabeau realized what
had happened without benefit of explanation.  In fact, the reasons didn’t
matter; all that mattered was that she and Rhys had been discovered and she
felt the bile rise in her throat. Angry faces and swords glared back at her.
She pressed herself more tightly against Rhys, feeling his arms around her.  
She couldn’t help the terrified tears that filled her eyes.

“I am to blame for
this,” she said, struggling not to cry. “You will not harm this man.  I forced
him to help me.”

“My lady,” Lewis said
politely. “How we deal with traitors is none of your affair.  You still have
two hours until dawn; I suggest you use it wisely.”

A couple of the soldiers
reached out to grab her but she screamed.  Rhys went for his swords but
Lawrence and Lewis were on him, forcing him to defend both himself and
Elizabeau without benefit of a weapon.  A fist to Lewis’ face drove the
red-haired knight onto his arse while Lawrence proved to be a bit more of a
challenge, but he was able to shove Lawrence back while simultaneously
regaining possession of Elizabeau.  Instead of clinging to him, as he expected,
she unsheathed a dirk at his waist and used it on a soldier who tried to grab
her again.   She severed a finger and the man howled as he fell away.  Rhys’
ripped away his cloak and unsheathed both of the broadswords on his back.

The dual blades whirled
through the air, faster than the eye could track.  Faint light glistened off
them, creating an odd streaming effect in the darkness of the entry.  It was
like watching swirls of death, singing an unearthly howl, inviting the first
victim to step forward.  But there were no takers at the moment; not one man
wanted to walk into that hell.

“You’ll not take her
from me,” Rhys was focused on Lawrence, his back to a corner near the keep
entry and Elizabeau partially behind him.  “I never took you for a fool until
now, de Beckett. Like de Lohr, I trusted you. I would have never suspected you
to be the traitor in our midst.”

Lawrence was holding up
his hands to the dozen armed soldiers filling the entry, preventing them from
charging the knight.  He had seen Rhys in battle and knew the man would more
than likely kill all of them if given half a chance.  And given the fact that
he was protecting the lady, it made him as ferocious as a mother bear which
made the situation extremely precarious.  Lawrence didn’t want to have a
massacre on his hands if he could at all help it.  He had to think quickly in
order to diffuse the situation. 

“Traitor is a harsh
word,” he said after a moment. “I had little choice in the matter.”

Rhys didn’t lower the
blades. “There is always a choice.  You seem to have made a very bad one.”

Lawrence shook his head,
eyeing Lewis for a moment before taking a step closer to Rhys. “If I were you,
I would not judge so harshly,” he said in a low voice. “A man who has fallen in
love with a woman he can never have is in no position to judge. You have broken
every knightly vow you swore an oath to, du Bois.  Do not be so critical of
others facing the same dilemma.”

Rhys wasn’t moved. “What
are you talking about?”

Lawrence stared at him,
torn between defiance and sorrow.  He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he
pondered an answer.