A Dishonorable Knight

Chapter 11

"Captain, you must gather your men at once. The rebels are to gather at Aberystwyth in less than a week. You haven't a moment to spare," the abbess insisted.

Sitting on a hard stool by the fire, Elena started. Did the abbess not remember she was here? The abbess was speaking to a rough looking man who reminded Elena more of the mercenaries she and Gareth had encountered rather than a captain of the king. Trying to remain as still as possible, she concentrated on the rapid Welsh.

"They were here not two hours ago to drop this ynfyd plentyn off. They told me their plans and expected me to bless their journey."

Ynfyd plentyn, Elena racked her brain for a translation. The abbess had such a strange accent, quite unlike any of Gareth's friends or family. Stupid child? Elena sat up straight. She was just about to tell the abbess exactly what she thought of her hospitality when a realization struck her. The old crow must not realize I understand Welsh, Elena thought. Why else would she speak so boldly in front of me? Elena swallowed. Unless she means to kill me. Her pulse quickened and Elena thought frantically. No, that can't be it. If the abbess is turning in Gareth as a rebel, she must be for Richard and would want no harm done to one of Richard's favorites. And yet, I was traveling with those very rebels! The woman must think I don't know what she's saying. Elena willed her breathing to slow and concentrated on the captain's response.

"If I chased down every Welshman who wanted to kill the king, I'd need several thousand more men and the king's leave to slaughter every babe in it's cradle. Now if you'll excuse me, madame."

Elena dared a peek over her shoulder towards the captain's voice. Her heart froze and her breath rushed from her lungs as she recognized the face of one of the drunken men she and Gareth had stumbled across in the fog not a week before! She turned back to the fire, willing herself into the smallest space possible that the captain might not notice her.

"You idiot. It is not three Welshmen you are chasing down. It is a meeting between Welsh leaders and Henry Tudor's closest advisors! They are meeting at Aberystwyth in three days." When the captain remained unconvinced, the abbess's eyes narrowed to mere slits as she said, "I'm sure King Richard would not be pleased to hear that one of his captains refused to prevent traitors from plotting against him. I send monthly reports to His Majesty's religious advisors and I would not hesitate to tell them of such shoddy soldiery."

The captain stared at the abbess for several seconds before saying "'Twill take me several hours to gather my men. They've been training throughout these mountains."

"Then you'd best not waste any more time here, had you?" the abbess said acidly. Without a further word, the captain stalked out of the small room.

"You must go and change. I can't have you wandering about in such clothes." So absorbed was Elena in thinking of a way to warn Gareth that she did not even realize the abbess was addressing her in English. "You there!" Elena jumped and quickly stood.

"Yes?"

"Take these clothes and change in the next room. Be sure to cover your hair with this veil."

"Is there a privy I may attend first?"

"Out back. Go and return quickly and disturb none of the sisters on your way."

"Of course not, madame," Elena said as meekly as her temper would allow. Once outside, she ducked around the main building of the abbey in the direction she had seen Bryant lead her horse. She said her own prayer of thanks that she came across no one as she crossed through the vegetable garden to the stable. As she made her way through the dimly lit stalls, a loud grunt stopped her in her tracks. She waited in agony for several seconds before continuing on. As she rounded a corner, she discovered the source of the grunt and cautiously edged her way around the sleeping stable hand, who was clutching a large jug in one hand. Finally at the far end of the stable, she found the horse she had ridden since her arrival at Eyri Keep.

The large mare raised her head at Elena's arrival but did not whinny or neigh; Welsh horses were trained for silence. "Greetings, Breila," Elena whispered as she untied the rope from the horse's bridle. "Now," she asked the horse, "dare I risk the time it would take to saddle you?" One look at Breila's back which came to Elena's nose and she knew she must have a saddle. Looking around the stall, she saw her saddle hanging on the wall. Cursing each clink and rattle of the trappings, Elena wrestled the saddle to Breila's broad back. She cinched the straps as tightly as she could and prayed she would not fall off when they reached a gallop. "If only there were another entrance to this barn," she muttered as she led Breila toward the open door.

As she was about to pass the sleeping stable hand, he snorted abruptly and sat up. When he saw Elena, he slurred, "Her grace said I wasn't to let you go anywhere."

Elena set her face into its most imperious expression and looked down her nose at the man who was trying to stand. Mustering her Welsh vocabulary, she said, "I am going for a ride. I suggest you keep your mouth shut lest I be tempted to tell the abbess what sort of drunken lout is maintaining her stables. I'm sure she would not be at all pleased with such conduct."

The man's eyes grew wide with fright and as he ducked his head he asked sheepishly, "Is there anything I can do for you while you're out riding, my lady?"

"Yes. You can try to sleep off your intoxication so you may be sober when I return." The servant obediently lay down and Elena marched resolutely to the great barn doors. Peering outside, she waited several minutes until the one nun in sight finished weeding a vegetable patch and went into one of the smaller buildings surrounding the main abbey. Pulling Breila behind her, Elena ran for the cover of the nearby forest. Once inside the protective darkness of the trees, she struggled into the saddle and turned her mount west in the direction Gareth and his friends had taken. Keeping to the shelter of the forest, she followed the direction of the road until the encroaching darkness prevented her from seeing where she was going in the thick woods. Rather than stopping, she cautiously made her way to the road, which was faintly illumined by a sliver of the new moon.

As Breila plodded confidently on, Elena finally reflected on the consequences of her rash actions. By riding to warn Gareth that Richard's men were on his trail, she was, in effect, aligning herself with Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. But did she support the Welshman's claim to the throne? Never before had Elena been posed with such a question. As a woman she simply had to accept the mandates of those in power. Never before had she been given the opportunity to affect the outcome of a political gambit. It was at once a frightening and heady feeling.

Suddenly a bird screeched overhead, startling Elena and sending all thoughts of kings and causes from her mind. What had possessed her to venture unescorted into the depths of Wales? She would no doubt end up dead and deservedly so for acting so stupidly. If wild animals did not eat her, she had no doubt highway men would strike her down. Roads in England, let alone Wales, were no place for unescorted women. Oh if only Gareth were here, he'd--Elena stopped in mid-thought. She didn't need Gareth. Any man would do, she merely needed an escort to discourage any predators, be they man or beast, from attacking her. And yet, a small voice inside her said, she had never felt as secure and protected as she had the night she and Gareth stumbled upon the group of mercenaries. Gareth had told her to escape, giving no thought to his own safety. Elena doubted any men of her acquaintance in Richard's court would ever be so selfless. Certainly not the foppish Edgeford. He more likely to call for his guards and then run for safety. As for her fiancé, although she scarcely knew him, she would not be surprised if Brackley offered to share her with the ruffians.

The later it grew and the colder Elena became, the more she wished she were nestled against Gareth's warm chest, as she had been that night in the cave. She did not feel well, not at all. What in the world was she doing out here?

Elena awoke with a start as Breila stumbled over a rock. How long had she been asleep? She looked up at the sky. The moon had set, but she had no idea how to read the stars. Suppose she had missed an important turn off? Elena reined in the huge mare.

"Now what do I do, Breila?" she asked her mount. The horse snorted softly in reply. "Well if you hadn't let me fall asleep I might have a better idea of where we are!" When Breila remained quiet, Elena relented. "Of course, I had no idea where we were when we began this journey so I don't know how staying awake would have helped." Elena reached down and patted her mount's neck. "You're forgiven, Breila."

"Who's that?" a rough voice called out from the trees to her right. Elena froze, her heart lodged in her throat preventing a reply. "I say, who's been foolish enough to pass our lair in the middle of the night?" When the question was followed by thrashing about in the underbrush, Elena wrapped both hands in Breila's mane and dug her heels into the horses sides as hard as she could.

"Run!" she screamed. The tired horse sprang into a gallop, quickly putting distance between them and the voice in the bushes. Elena dared a glance over her shoulder and saw three figures stumble onto the road.

"Get the horses!" one of them shouted. "There's only one!"

Elena turned her attention back to staying on her mount. As they ran, Elena realized she must have slept longer than she thought for the sky was lightening behind her. She reined in abruptly as Breila crested a peak. Below she could just make out the road which zig-zagged back and forth all the way down the mountain. Elena hesitated for a second before sending Breila off the road and straight down the mountain. The horse nearly sat on her haunches as she slid down the steep slope, creating a landslide of rocks and dirt. They reached the next level of road and again Elena urged Breila across the road and straight down the mountain. Her strategy worked three more times before the exhausted horse could not keep her feet under her any longer. Elena screamed as Breila's feet went out from under her and she and the horse tumbled down the mountain. Elena tried to protect her head and face as she slid, but she did not see Breila's hoof as it grazed the top of her head, knocking her unconscious.

***

Elena awoke to a blindingly bright sun. She squinted as she sat up, partly from the glare, partly from the tremendous throbbing in her skull. She was coated in dust and for the first time in her life she felt the urge to spit. Slowly easing herself to her feet she closed her eyes when the world began to tilt dizzily. After a few moments it seemed to level out and she opened her eyes cautiously. If this is the thanks I get for trying to be a heroine, Elena thought, Joan of Arc can have it.

"Breila?" she choked out. "Where is that damn--" Elena froze when she saw the huge horse sprawled several feet away from her. With staggering steps she crept over to the horse and knelt down by its head. Breila whinnied softly, but did not move.

"Oh, Breila, I'm so sorry," Elena whispered. Although she could see no obvious wounds, the horse's awkward position left no doubt in her mind that Breila's back was broken. To Elena's surprise, tears filled her eyes and began coursing down her cheeks. She stroked Breila's face and the horse made a valiant effort to rise. Elena sucked in a breath, hoping that she had been wrong about the horse's injuries, knowing she wasn't as soon as Breila whinnied in pain and fell back against the ground heavily. Tears streaked Elena's dusty face as the horse's breathing finally slowed and then stopped altogether. A sob escaped her and she pressed her face against Breila's neck.

All her life, horses had been like servants to her. They had served a purpose and she forgot their existence the moment that purpose was accomplished. Unlike her friends, she had never seen her horses as pets, never felt more than a passing interest in what was carrying her. Now she was suddenly overcome with heart-wrenching grief for the horse she had ridden but a few days. What a noble animal, Elena thought. She kept going when I pushed her, when she must have been exhausted. Elena sobbed harder, her breaths coming in great heaves. After several minutes, her sobs diminished and her innately sensible self began to reassert itself.

Pushing herself up, she told herself firmly, "I'm going to make myself sick if I carry on like this. And that is no thanks for Breila’s sacrifice." She looked around, wondering where she was. Crouching down, she could just see the road below through the thick cluster of trees. She turned back to Breila and with one finally caress, left the horse and began making her way towards the road.

She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was high in the sky and the heat was pressing down on her oppressively, filling her nostrils with the smell of hot pine needles and scorched earth. Elena walked for hours, wishing she would come across a stream or a pond or even a hut where she might ask for water. Though her stomach had long since given up complaining at its emptiness, her throat was parched and her head felt light for lack of water.

Her head drooping, she kept walking down the winding road, back and forth as it descended the mountain. In some places it was no more defined than a worn place in the grass. In others, it was wide and smooth enough to allow a cart to pass. When she stumbled over a rock, she bent to inspect her foot. Though she wore boots, they were of thin, delicate leather, meant to peep out from under her gown as she rode, not to support her as she hiked through the Welsh mountains. As Elena straightened, she smoothed her kirtle, the same one she had put on that last morning at Middleham. It was no longer the deep rich blue that was so difficult to achieve in a dye. It was now faded and crumpled, full of dust. She pulled up the hem and frowned at what was once a cream colored chemise of fine Italian cotton. It was now a dingy grey and not a little tattered.

Pushing her tangled hair off her face with a sigh, Elena continued down the road, stumbling more and more often. Oh, if only this heat would abate, she might be able to clear her mind. A rock found its way into her boot but she was too tired to stop and remove it so she continued to limp along. When the sky began to cloud over, Elena was so wrapped in her misery she did not even notice. It wasn't until the first drop hit her face that she glanced up hopefully.

"Thank God!" she said as loudly as her parched throat would allow.

The first drop was quickly followed by several more and Elena let them fall on her face with pleasure. This was no fine mist of rain, but huge cold raindrops that cooled her deliciously and did much to restore rational thought to her muddled brain. Picking up her pace, Elena walked as briskly as her sore feet would allow.

***

"It's no use Gareth! The rivers is too swollen," Cynan shouted over the roar of the Dovey River. The steady downpour of the last hour had filled the narrow stream until it was spilling over its banks and the shallow ford that the men had sought to cross was now impassable.

"We'll have to backtrack and try to cross higher upstream," yelled Bryant.

"Damn!" Gareth bit out. They had made slow progress all day because Bryant's horse had thrown a shoe. Now with this delay, they would be at least a day late reaching Aberystwyth. He wheeled Isrid in a tight circle and led the way back up the muddy road.

***

The rain was no longer refreshing. It was cold. Elena was soaked through and she could scarcely see a few feet in front of her as she waded through the bog that was the road. She pushed her wet hair out of her face. She was suddenly as hot as she had been when the sun had been beating down on her. Gasping for breath, she stopped and raised her face to the downpour. The next minute she was freezing again, shivering in an effort to warm herself. Without realizing it, she resumed her wobbly way along the road, oblivious to everything but the steady drumming of rain on her head as she vacillated between being hot and cold in the downpour. Suddenly, the way ahead of her was no longer dark grey--it was pitch black and her knees buckled as she slid to the ground, unconscious.

***

Isrid reared suddenly, nearly throwing Gareth who was caught unaware. "What the hell?" he yelled and was about to jerk Isrid back down when he saw what had startled the animal. Huddled in the middle of the road, not a hoof's stride away was a crumpled form. Bryant and Cynan reined in and Bryant yelled, "What is it?"

Gareth dismounted and pointed. He approached the still figure, saw that it was a woman, and crouched down to determine if she was still alive. When he rolled her over and wiped the mud from her face, he felt as if someone had kicked him sharply in the stomach. "Blessed Christ!"

"Gareth?" Cynan yelled.

"It's Elena!" he called back as he scooped her up and carried her back towards Isrid.

"What? How could it be?"

"I'll be damned if I know. Here, hold her!" Cynan jumped off his horse and took Elena's bedraggled form as Gareth quickly mounted. Settling her as gently as he could in front of him, he brushed her tangled hair back from her face, the back of his hand grazing her cheek.

"She's burning up with fever! We've got to get her inside somewhere!"

"There's not so much as a hut for miles, Gareth, much less a town that might boast a healer," Cynan said.

"Yes there is. In Machynlleth."

"Machynlleth? Are you mad? In case you don't remember, we turned back from that ford because we couldn't cross it. Machynlleth is several miles on the other side. We'll never make it!"

"We'll have to make it," Gareth said implacably. Every moment they argued his stomach clenched into tighter knots. Elena had not made a sound since he had found her.

Bryant was staring at Elena's huddled form. Turning to Cynan he said, "Our horses are strong. They can swim the ford. We'll tie lines onto each other so we won't get swept away."

"Not you too, Bryant! I thought at least you'd have some sense. The best we can do is find shelter in the trees and try to build a fire."

"There isn't a dry stick to be had in all of Wales, right now, I'll wager," Bryant argued.

Gareth had had enough. Urging Isrid up against Cynan's mount he grasped his friend's wrist. "She'll die if we don't get her dry and warm soon. We must try to cross the river." When Cynan started to shake his head, Gareth continued more urgently, "What if this was Enid, Cynan?"

Cynan glanced at Elena's pale face and then back to Gareth's eyes, wide with fright and filled with desperation. "Enid will have your head if you get me killed, Gareth. Let's go."

Gareth had never felt such relief before. Spurring Isrid vigorously, he headed for the flooded river. At least the accursed rain is slowing, he thought frantically as they approached the swollen banks of the Dovey. The river had risen several inches since they had left and it was traveling as fast as a horse could run.

Cynan shook his head but said nothing. Bryant pulled a length of rope from his pack and quickly secured it round his waist. He tossed it to Gareth who wrapped it around himself and Elena before finally handing it to Cynan. Bryant urged his apprehensive horse into the quickly running water. As Gareth followed, Elena awoke and grabbed at his drenched shirt. Gareth glanced down quickly and in the grey light of the storm, her eyes were dark, sparkling with fevered intensity.

"They're after you," she whispered hoarsely.

Gareth had no idea what she was talking about but knew that he needed every bit of concentration for guiding his horse across the river. "'Tis alright, my lady. We're safe now," he soothed. "Just go back to sleep and I'll wake you when we're home."

"At Eyri Keep?" she asked as her lids drooped closed.

"Yes."

Wrapping his right arm more tightly around her, Gareth wiped the rain off his face and guided Isrid into the dark water with his left. The bank of the normally shallow ford dropped instantly into water that easily reached Isrid's chest. Gareth felt the swift pull of the water as is swirled around his feet and he wondered fleetingly if Cynan hadn't been right after all. The water quickly deepened and Isrid was soon swimming. Gareth prayed his horse would not tire before they reached the other side.

Gareth could hear Isrid's loud breathing over the roaring rush of the water. He looked behind him to see Cynan patting his horse's neck, shouting encouragement to the frightened beast. Looking down at Elena, Gareth prayed they would make it across. Branches and bits of debris pelted his legs and Isrid's sides with the force of arrows as the river shot them downstream. Squinting through the steady downpour, he guessed Bryant's horse would reach the far bank in a few more strokes and for the first time, he began to believe they would make it. Bryant's horse was not ten feet from the bank and had just got its feet on the river bottom when a huge log slammed into it, throwing it off balance. The horse screamed and scrambled clumsily to regain its footing. As soon as it was on its feet it bolted for the shore. Bryant held a tight rein on him but the horse refused to be stayed. Gareth felt the rope lurch and nearly lost his balance in the saddle. Elena moaned as the wet cord cut into her waist.

"Bryant!" Gareth yelled. "Pull back! Pull back!" Isrid strained against the pull of Gareth on his back and Gareth and Elena were suddenly pulled off the horse. Though the rain was cold, the river was freezing. Gareth struggled to the surface, pulling Elena up with him. Her full skirts caught in the current, trying to pull her away from him and still unconscious, she was a dead weight, dragging Gareth under. Just as he got both their heads above water, he felt another abrupt lurch as the horse reached the opposite shore and tried to run. Bryant quickly jumped off and began hauling in on the rope. Gareth's feet had just touched bottom when Cynan splashed up and helped them to shore. Gareth collapsed in the mud until his gasps for breath slowed. He quickly reached for Elena, convinced she should be dead after such a trial. Her pulse still beat strongly but despite the dunk in the cold water, her skin still burned to the touch.

"We've got to get her to shelter," Gareth yelled over the roar of the water. Both Bryant and Cynan nodded grimly. Cynan untied the swollen rope from Gareth and Elena while Bryant chased down his still-jittery horse. Within minutes they were tearing along the muddy road to Machynlleth.

Two hours later they rode into the small town, exhausted and mud spattered. Gareth stopped at the first inn they came to. With Elena in his arms, he kicked the door open and strode across the small room.

"I need a room. Now," he gasped. "My wife is ill. Get a fire going immediately."

The innkeeper and his wife stared at him as if he were Lucifer himself until he bellowed, "Move!" Quickly jumping up, the woman ran upstairs while the man gathered an armload of wood from a box in the corner of the room. Gareth followed the man upstairs, willing his legs not to collapse until he reached the bed. As soon as the innkeeper had a fire going, Gareth said, "Get out. No not you," as the wife moved to follow her husband. "I need your help undressing her. She's soaked through and burning with fever.

Although the woman had first seemed as timid as a field mouse, she soon proved both competent and wise as she deftly pulled Elena's kirtle and chemise over her head. "There's a cloth on that wash stand," she said, gesturing with her chin as she laid Elena gently on the bed and began pulling off her boots. When Gareth handed her the cloth, she briskly rubbed Elena dry and quickly pulled the covers up.

"I'll prepare a compress," the woman said as she spread Elena's clothes in front of the blaze. "You'll want to add a few more logs to that fire and get out of your wet clothes. You'll do your wife no good if you catch the fever yourself."

Gareth stared at the closed door for several moments before rousing himself enough to unlace the cuffs of his shirt. He paused with his hands on the waistband of his chausses and glanced at Elena. Perhaps he shouldn't even be in here. At the time, saying she was his wife had seemed like the best reason to have an unchaperoned young woman with him. Now he wondered what Elena's reaction would be should she wake the next morning to find him in the same room. He was about to grab up his shirt and join Cynan and Bryant when the innkeeper's wife returned.

"Here, you may borrow this shirt while yours dries. It belonged to my brother. He died last spring. Your friends are settled in the small room downstairs." She set a large wooden bowl on the floor beside the bed and began applying a wet cloth to Elena's face. The smell of chamomile filled the room as she dipped the cloth back into the bowl.

"Perhaps I should sleep with my friends downstairs and allow you to tend to her," Gareth said, easing towards the door. When the woman shook her head he said, "I'll pay you well. You obviously know much more of healing than I do and--"

"And should she wake up in the middle of the night how do you think she'll feel to have a stranger here instead of her husband. No, come here and I'll show you what to do."

Gareth pulled the borrowed shirt over his head and crossed the room apprehensively. The woman stood and motioned him to sit on the edge of the bed next to Elena who appeared deathly pale in the firelight.

"Just wring that cloth out and wipe her face and throat gently with it." When Gareth did as she instructed, she leaned over and pulled the rough blanket down. "She's got a bit of a rattle in her breath. You'll want to put the compress on her chest as well to ease her breathing."

Gareth swallowed and concentrated on keeping his hands steady as he drew the pungent cloth between Elena's silken breasts.

"No not like that. You won't do her any good to just sponge her off. Here," she took the cloth from Gareth and dipping it back into the bowl, took his hand in her and pressed it over the cloth to Elena's chest. "Just hold it there for a few minutes and then rewet it. I'll go and see if there's anything to feed you."

Gareth looked studiously at the wall above the bed while he held the cloth against Elena's chest. When he removed it he carefully avoided looking at her and concentrated on meticulously dipping the cloth in the fragrant water and wringing it out. How long did he have to continue this, he wondered as he changed the cloth pressed to her forehead.

Elena inhaled suddenly and began tossing her head. Gareth froze, afraid to touch her. "Gareth!" she called. Gareth's eyes widened. What if she'd been conscious while he'd applied the cloth to her--

"Gareth," she called again. "They know, they..." Her words faded into an incoherent mumble.

"Shh," he whispered, awkwardly stroking her hair. "I'm right here."

Elena's eyes opened a little. "Gareth?"

"Yes. We're in an inn. Can you tell me how you came to be in the middle of the road? Elena? Why were you following us?"

Elena seemed not to understand what he was asking. "Promise," she mumbled.

"What? Promise what, Elena?"

"Don't...don't leave me again..."

"Don't worry," Gareth assured. "I'll be right here until you feel better."

"Promise," she whispered as her eyes closed again.

"I promise," he said, and since she seemed to be asleep, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on her fever-hot lips. Gareth leaned closer. Despite the fever, she was so pale he could make out a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He ran his finger over them lightly, smiling. He jerked his hand away quickly when a light tap on the door was followed by the innkeeper's wife carrying a tray.

"Since we've not had visitors for several days, I'm afraid there isn't much food ready, but I brought a bit of bread and some broth," she said apologetically. "You should try to get some liquid down her throat." When Gareth reached for one of the bowls to feed Elena, the woman shook her head. "If she's sleeping now let her be. Besides, you look exhausted. Why don't you eat while I change the compresses and then you can try to wake her."

Gareth nodded and took the steaming bowl of broth. He drained it in one long gulp and began gnawing on the thick dark bread. When he had finished eating, she took the empty bowl and said, "If she should take a turn for the worse, just pound on the floor. Ours is the room right below this one and I'll be right up. Now just keep changing those compresses until she starts to sweat. When that happens, keep her covered and warm. If the fever doesn't break by morning, I'll fetch the healer."

Gareth thanked the woman who closed the door softly behind her. Taking a deep breath, he moved back to Elena's side and took up the compress. Against his will, his eyes strayed to her bare breasts, which were the color of warm ivory in the light of the fire. Quickly turning his head he busied himself wringing out the cloth. When he had replaced it on her chest, he drew the covers up and reached for the full bowl of broth.

"Elena?" he said softly. "You must try to get some of this down." With his free hand he shook her gently until her eyes opened. "Try and drink, Elena."

Gareth lifted her head and held the bowl to her lips. She only drank a few swallows, and he spilled just as much down her neck, but he felt a great sense of accomplishment. "Good girl. Go back to sleep now." But she was already out.