A Dishonorable Knight

Chapter 17

Gareth awoke early the next morning as the sun's first rays made their way into a tiny window, high on the wall. He was disoriented for several seconds as he stared at the clean wooden walls of the room. Of late, he had become used to sleeping outdoors, on the ground. As he tried to stretch and found his arm pinned beneath Elena's head, his mind quickly cleared and he turned to survey his bedfellow.

Her hair was a soft tangle of reddish-brown waves and curls spread about the pillow like a silk veil, its sweet scent filling his nostrils and reminding him of the night before when he had grabbed double handfuls of the silken strands and buried his face in their fragrance. Her face nestled against his shoulder was beautiful, peaceful, and, he thought, content. The last time he had watched her sleep, she had been deathly ill, her face flushed with fever, her hair dampened with sweat. Even when the fever had broken, her eyes had remained slightly glazed with weakness for days afterwards. Then they had almost made love, stopped only by Cynan pounding on the door that English soldiers were after them. There had been no soldiers last night. No Cynan pounding on the door. No illness to befuddle Elena's mind as to what they were doing.

Gareth brushed a feather-light kiss against Elena's brow. No, there had been nothing to stand in their way last night. There had been only love. Gareth swallowed but did not try to deny himself the emotion. Yes, last night he had succumbed to the feeling that had been steadily growing since he had seen her standing at the top of the stairs in Richard's great hall those many weeks ago; the feeling that had grown despite her haughtiness, despite her complaining, nagging, and bickering as they rode through Wales; the feeling that grew tenfold that horrible night he found her huddled in the middle of the road; the feeling that would have to cease once they returned to England, returned to Richard's court.

Gareth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing himself to forget that last thought. They would have almost another week before he had to hand her back to Richard and to her fiancée, perhaps a few days more if they were lucky and the roads were bad.

Elena squirmed in his arms and opened her eyes, smiling lazily at him. He grinned back at her, immensely relieved at her response. Dipping his head, he kissed her gently, her lips like warm velvet under his mouth. Of its own will, his free hand slid up the smooth skin of her torso to caress her breast. His heart began hammering against his ribs as Elena's hands began their own exploration over his body.

Staring down at her, he was entranced by the fiery colors ignited in her hair as a shaft of sunlight struck it. Her eyes also were illuminated, their cinnamon depths pulling him towards her for another kiss. An inch before his lips were to touch hers, Gareth's love struck mind finally recognized the significance of the light on Elena's face. Pulling back abruptly, he saw her scowl.

"'Tis morning, love, and I had best duck out before the others awaken. There are at least three men in this house who would sever my head from my body if they were to discover me in your room."

Elena laughed shakily, and Gareth wondered if she was just now aware of the implications of their stolen night together. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she sat up as Gareth climbed from the bed. As he retrieved his discarded clothing, she studied his supple body without embarrassment, though her scrutiny made him nervous. Suppose she didn't like what she saw? Glancing nervously over his shoulder, he saw admiration and raw desire on her face. He almost returned to her then and there, consequences be damned, but forced himself to stay focused.

Once dressed, Gareth turned and bent to drop a quick kiss on her lips. "I've no plans today. What say we travel about town and find a seamstress? We've been through enough to have earned at least one day's play."

Elena's eyes sparkled at his mention of a seamstress. Grabbing his face before he could straighten, she kissed him soundly on the mouth before flopping back down on the bed.

"If we have a day to do what we want, then I want to sleep another hour. I've been up with the sun for so many days, I feel like a chicken!"

Gareth laughed and said, "Sleep away, my lady. The day is yours." Carefully opening the door, he peeked outside before quickly leaving. Once in the hall, he stayed where he was a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Gareth!" his father called out from the other end of the hall. Gareth's heart stopped and his mouth went dry. He felt like a twelve-year-old who had been caught peeping at the bathing milkmaids. Full of dread, he turned and watched his father walk down the hall.

"Is she still asleep?" Morgan asked.

Gareth swallowed to force his heart back down into his chest, then he cleared his throat. "Yes, I thought I'd check on her, but she's asleep."

"Poor dear, she probably needs the rest, especially after last night."

Gareth's eyes widened to the point he was afraid they would tumble out of his head. "Last night?"

"Yes. Cynan said you convinced Elena to play on the Viking stumps last night in the market."

Gareth's heart resumed beating. "Oh, yes. She did very well."

"Well, best not to disturb her then. Let's go sit by the fire and talk about your strategy."

Gareth nodded and allowed himself to be pulled down the hall on legs that were rubbery with reaction to almost being caught, and weak from…other things.

***

After Gareth left, wedging the door as closed as it would go, Elena stretched lazily, curling her toes and yawning. This was heaven, she thought. To simply be able to lay here in relative comfort and cleanliness for as long as she wanted. More sleep was definitely what she wanted, but as she lay on the narrow pallet and gazed out the tiny square pane of the window, she found that she was not the least bit sleepy. In fact, she felt as if she could hike across Wales. Elena laughed at the whimsical thought. Two months ago, she would have thought something like, "I could dance all night," or, "I could help Lady Elizabeth change her clothes twelve time today." Still, sleepy or no, it felt wonderful to lay here and know that the day was hers to do with as she pleased. Hers and Gareth's.

She glanced around the room, her gaze coming to rest on the heap of cranberry-colored wool. A new dress! And the finest cotton! She had not been so excited about having a new outfit since her mother had first helped her prepare for moving to Richard's court. The fact that Gareth had thought enough of her to give her such a gift gave her pause.

Sitting up slowly, Elena leaned over and collected her torn chemise. Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the night spent in Gareth's arms, his compactly built but strong body pressed against hers. What would Margaret and Catherine and all the other girls back at court say if they knew what she had done. Not only done, she corrected herself, but enjoyed! She did not regret for a moment what had happened last night. In the bright light of day, she forced herself to admit that she had long found Gareth attractive. But somewhere along their travels, she had come to desire more than his handsome face or broad shoulders. His focus, his determination, the way he put her safety above all else; she had never had someone make her feel as cherished as he did. And this gift…

No, she was not sorry for what happened last night. In fact, she would do her best to see that it happened again before she must face the possibility of a wedding night with Brackley. The wayward thought of the earl this time did not bring an involuntary shudder. Not because she was resigned to her fate, but because suddenly she saw before her not Brackley as a bridegroom, but Gareth. She gasped aloud at the thought. Wed? To Gareth? He held no land, no position of honor or prestige. The blood rushed from Elena’s face and she had to sit down, because suddenly, she found that she didn’t care that he was a simple knight, and a Welsh one at that. The realization left her dizzy, as if she’d held onto her plans and expectations for so long that they’d served as her anchor and she was now adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Could she truly be happy with a man such as Gareth? She laughed aloud at herself for such a foolish question. She knew without a doubt that Gareth could show her a happiness far beyond what she had once hoped to achieve. The question was, could he be happy with a woman such as herself? The thought was disconcerting to say the least, for she’d rarely suffered self-doubt, but she found herself in new territory, stripped bare of her arsenal of feminine wiles. She glanced again at the pile of fabric. Such a gift gave her hope that Gareth did in fact return her feelings.

Vowing she would find a way to discover his feelings for her before they reached Richard’s court, Elena stood and pulled on her chemise. As she laced herself into her worn cotehardie, she reveled in her plan to burn it and scatter the ashes at sea as soon as her new dress was made.

***

"What have you discovered about Elena's loyalties?" Morgan asked gently as he and Gareth broke their fast on crusty bread and tangy goat cheese.

Gareth pulled his thoughts from the previous night's activities and swallowed his mouthful of bread. "Elena holds no great love for either Richard or Henry, but maintaining her livelihood is, understandably, utmost in her mind. As a mere lady-in-waiting, she would hold no importance for Henry, hence, she would most likely lose her position in court. Although she did not say she would oppose our efforts, neither did she offer help or support."

"Not even if you asked for her help?" Morgan asked, eyeing Gareth speculatively.

Gareth looked sharply at his father, exasperated with himself for his adolescent fear of discovery. Deciding to ignore his father's unspoken questions, he shook his head. "I can't do that, Da. She is here now because of a quirk of fate. Because she rode the wrong way on that blasted road after Richard's party was attacked. If she'd had her way, she would have spent these past weeks in the luxury of court, being pampered and flirting with the courtiers." Gareth felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Elena flirting with the wealthy, handsome men of Richard's court, but he continued. "We simply can't ask her to make that sacrifice."

His father gazed steadily at him for a long moment and Gareth focused his attention on his meal, willing his expression not to reveal his feelings for Elena.

“You and see seem to get along well.”

Gareth nearly choked on a crust of bread. Reaching for a tankard, he washed it down and scowled at his father. “Well enough.”

“Perhaps more than well enough, I’m inclined to say.”

“More than well enough for what?” Gareth asked sharply, but God help him, he knew.

“What if you married Lady Elena. Your loyalties would be hers and we need not worry about—“

“No!” Though the idea had sprouted in the back of his mind since awakening with Elena in his arms, he could not abide the idea of manipulating her into marriage simply to aid Lord Stanley’s plans. Not when his own feelings were engaged. Elena would never willingly marry a man of his station. She had made clear many times what she sought out of life and that was position, wealth, and security. Security he could give her—with his life, if need be. Wealth he had enough, at least enough to keep her well fed, well clothed, well sheltered, though perhaps not as lavishly as Elena hoped for. But position was a tenuous thing in Wales, and soon all of England if Henry Tudor’s plans came to fruition. He knew how important such a thing was to Elena and he would not risk her compromising her dreams.

Liar, hissed a voice in the back of his head. What you would not risk is your heart, should you lay it before her and have her rejected. Coward!

Gareth shook his head and clenched his jaw, ignoring the thought. When he spoke, his voice was low and harsh. “Elena is most enamored of her position at court. She would not give it up for life as mistress of a Welsh keep.”

"But if we assured her she would have a place in Henry’s court--"

"No!" Gareth said more forcefully than he had planned. "Henry won't lose this war without Elena's help and we both know there's every chance we'll be completely crushed. If that should happen, I would not have Elena then be termed a traitor and put to death."

"Alright son, alright. We need not ask her assistance." Morgan watched his son tear almost savagely into his bread. "Gareth?"

Much calmer now that his anger was spent, Gareth smiled apologetically at his father and said, "Yes?"

"I'm not questioning your loyalty to me and this cause, for I know you would lay down your very life once you have committed yourself to something."

"But?" Gareth prodded.

"No buts, I just want to know your feelings."

Gareth was confused and he frowned as he asked, "About what?"

Morgan lifted his hand in an encompassing gesture. "About this whole venture. I believe in Henry Tudor's claim, as do your friends, and I know that you are fighting for Wales. But I've yet to hear you say you think we will be victorious. Do you think Richard will crush us?"

Gareth saw the concern on Morgan's face and sighed, tossing the bit of bread he was about to eat back onto the table. "I don't know, Da. Richard has many enemies in England, but he has managed to purchase or cajole or win over many powerful allies as well. And Henry has to get here, gather his troops, and get them to England. I don't know," he repeated as he leaned back on the rickety wooden chair, lifting its front legs off the floor and balancing precariously on the back two. Three men of his own age came down from the upstairs room where they had spent the night. They nodded good morning to Gareth and his father and made their way down the hall to the shop.

Gareth dropped his chair back onto all four legs and turned to face his father, noting the worried look on his father's face. He immediately felt remorseful for his doom saying. "You can't place much faith in my ramblings. In fact, don't listen to me--I'm a green knight with little war experience. I guess I'm still uncomfortable with this whole spying idea."

Morgan waved his hand dismissively. "You're right, of course. For all our self-righteousness, there is every chance we will be slaughtered. We would be fools if we went into battle expecting the angels to help us defeat our enemies and escape unscathed, though I know that's what many men will expect." He paused and took a breath. "I don't want to upset you further, Gareth, but have you thought about what you're going to say to Elena if she's to be kept out of our plans?"

Gareth nodded and glanced down the hall to make sure Elena had not come out of her room. "I've already told her that I have changed my mind about joining Henry's fight and that we will be returning to England in a few days."

"Will she say anything about this meeting?"

Gareth paused. She had promised not to mention his involvement, but if she thought he was standing for Richard, would she not hesitate to tell the king what she knew of this meeting? He chewed his upper lip, feeling the stubble of several day's growth. Gambling on their night together, he said, "No, she will say naught." His father looked at him searchingly and Gareth struggled to keep his face smooth and innocent looking.

After a seemingly endless few seconds, Morgan nodded and said, "Very well. When will you return to England?"

"In a few days. I would have Elena well rested before we begin yet another journey, and it will take time to have her dress made."

"Ah, yes, her new dress. Was she pleased with your purchase?"

Gareth couldn't suppress his smile. "She was delighted, I think."

"Yes, well what young lady wouldn't be delighted to have a handsome young lad present her with such a generous gift."

"Da," Gareth said. Why was it that his father could one moment treat him like a worldly important man and then the very next, make him feel like a boy of seven?

"Well, it's true. You are handsome. You take after me. Although your mother was quite a beauty as well--had all the boys after her for miles around..."

Gareth stared in amazement as his father continued to reminisce about the past. Was this the same man who had discussed political tactics last night so cunningly with Lord Stanley?

Both men's thoughts were interrupted by Elena's entrance.

"Good morning, Lady Elena," Morgan boomed.

Elena bestowed her sweetest kindly-older-man smile on him before turning expectantly to Gareth, who was standing.

"Good morning, Elena," he said in a husky voice. Her smile deepened seductively and her eyes sparkled intimately at him, making the blood rush to his face and his throat constrict. "Would you--" he cleared his throat. "Would you like some fresh bread or cheese?"

"Yes, come have some, dear girl. Samuel's wife left his pantry well-stocked before she left to visit her kin." As Elena sat in Gareth's vacated seat, Morgan continued, "How did you pass your night?"

Gareth choked on a slice of cheese and looked quickly to Elena who seemed as composed as ever. "Wonderfully," she said with a smile. "It was the most pleasurable night I've spent." Despite his fear that Morgan would decipher just what she meant, he couldn't ignore the tingling warmth that spread over his body at her words. He was glad she had found their encounter equally pleasing.

As soon as Elena was finished eating, he said, "Shall we spend today finding a seamstress for your gown?"

Elena quickly stood and ran down the hall to her room, calling over her shoulder, "Yes! I'll get the cloth now!"

"I understand there are several reputable seamstresses on the third street to the west. Here," Morgan said, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a small leather bag. "Make sure you eat well. Perhaps you should buy another horse, as well, for Lady Elena to ride. It cannot be too comfortable to cross mountains pressed together on one horse."

Gareth refrained from telling him just what was uncomfortable about that situation, and instead pushed the bag of coins away. "You've given me more than enough, Da. I still have more than half of what you gave me yesterday, thanks to Cynan."

"This is not from me, though I'd give it to you if I had it. Lord Stanley asked me to give it to you before he left at sunrise. He said he understood how difficult your task would be and how it was hard to know what was right all the time."

Gareth stared at the small bag for a moment before slowly reaching out to take it. "That was kind of him. He seemed such an ogre yesterday."

"He's in a difficult spot. Richard holds his son as ransom to Stanley's loyalty, yet Henry is his kin as well."

Gareth felt his unease about returning as a spy to England settle on his shoulders like a familiar weight. Was there nothing about this entire war he would not feel guilty for? Before he had time to heap more recriminations on his head, Elena returned, positively beaming as she handed him the heavy mass of cloth and took his arm.

"Do you know where we are going?" she asked sweetly, and if Gareth had not been so preoccupied, he would have marveled at her tone.

"Yes," Morgan answered for him. "I've told him of several places you can try, not a ten minute's walk from here."

"Excellent," she replied. Tugging on Gareth's arm, she said, "Shall we go?"

***

"Oh what a glorious day!" said Elena as they walked down the narrow street. Lifting her face to the warm sun, she inhaled deeply of the salty air.

Gareth glanced over the pile of wool in his arms and smiled. "That is truly something I never thought to hear cross your lips."

Elena frowned. "Why not?" she asked, although she knew the answer. Studying her escort, she saw him look quickly away and knew to what he referred.

"You just seem like you prefer the comforts of a castle and servants."

Elena studied the large formation of clouds that was moving in from the west. She considered responding with a flippant answer, but stopped herself. She was determined to test her feelings for him and, perhaps, discover his for her. Deciding to be as honest as he himself always was, she said, "Perhaps I've just grown to appreciate the beauty of other surroundings."

"I can understand how it has been difficult."

"What do you mean," Elena asked, her hackles bristling.

The corner of Gareth's mouth twitched and he said, "What with your own beauty eclipsing everything around you, I can see how it would be difficult for you to notice anything else."

Elena stared at him for a few seconds as an embarrassed flush crept up his neck and suffused his face. "Why Gareth, I do believe you're actually flirting with me!" Before he could stammer an excuse, she said, "You really should have tried it before."

This caught Gareth off guard, she could tell, and with more curiosity than embarrassment, he asked why.

Elena schooled herself not to laugh with delight as she responded, "Well, it's a much more effective method for getting into a lady's good graces than is telling her how rude, demanding, and self-centered she is."

Gareth tried to look abashed, but when Elena herself burst out laughing, he quickly joined her. They continued laughing and teasing one another until they came to the first of the seamstress shops. Gareth hadn't even begun to explain their business when the seamstress curtly informed them that she was entirely too busy to take on any new work. She quickly ushered them out of her shop without so much as a "Good day." Rather than being put off by the woman's rudeness, Gareth and Elena mimicked the dour old woman as they made their way to the next shop, halfway down the street, only to discover it closed.

"We will be successful, Elena, fear not," Gareth said grandly as he shifted the bulk of fabric in his arms.

"Of course we will," she responded, studying his clear grey eyes beneath the mop of dark hair. He really is handsome, she thought. Not in the same way that Lord Edgeford was, for Gareth's features were not as fine, his hair not as perfectly groomed, his hands not as soft, but there was no denying that Gareth was attractive. His squarely cut jaw and sculptured face bespoke a strength that Edgeford utterly lacked. And his hands, while rough and deeply tanned, made her feel things she'd never experienced as they had roamed her body. Though he was not as tall as Edgeford, nor as burly as, say, the blond sailor from the market, he had a confidence about him, a way of carrying himself that made him completely fill her vision, eclipsing all others. As Elena remembered how he rescued her from the band of ruffians, how he carried her across the swollen river, and nursed her back to health, her thoughts returned to their earlier ruminations.

How could she get him to confess how he felt about her? Certainly not with the shallow games she used to entice suitors in court. She was at a loss as to how to proceed.

"I'm sure it’s around here somewhere." Elena's thoughts were interrupted and she realized the street had curved and narrowed. "Da said there were three shops right on this street."

"Maybe it has closed down."

"I think not. He asked Samuel just this morning." They had slowed to a stop and Gareth looked up and down the row of shops. The buildings rose to several stories on the left, the shop owner no doubt living above their stores. There were a variety of crudely made signs indicating cobblers, bakers, and even a scribner. But not a hint to indicate a seamstress. To their right, Gareth and Elena were hemmed in by a tall stone wall, the original town wall which had in most parts, been removed to allow Aberstwyth to grow. There were no people on the street and despite the fact there could be no chance of it, Gareth decided this was one place he would not like to meet up with an enemy.

"Why don't you ask in here," Elena suggested, gesturing to the bakery they had stopped in front of. "Then you can buy me a sweet bun."

"You just ate."

"A bit of dry bread and a lump of cheese is not enough to break my fast."

"Would you have preferred some dried beef?"

Elena leveled her sourest glare at him to no effect. "Are you going to ask where it is or not?"

"Why? We'll find it. Maybe it's down a little farther."

"Oh Gareth! Here, give me some money and I'll go ask."

"You're going to pay someone for directions?"

"No, I'm going to ask for directions and then buy something to eat."

Gareth rolled his eyes but pulled out the small pouch of coins. "Here. Gorge yourself."

"Hmph."

Elena disappeared into the dim recess of the bakery and Gareth leaned against the shadowed wall. He looked up and down the narrow street, unable to quell the feeling that this was a dangerous spot. Shifting the heavy bulk of fabric to his other arm, he decided that a little dust would not harm the heavy wool and he carefully set the load down on the baker's stoop, shaking his arms to return circulation to them. Wishing Elena would hurry, he looked down the street once again and froze. Coming up the cobbled lane were three of the rough soldiers he and Elena had stumbled upon in the forest mists. What were they doing here? His sword hand automatically grasped at his hip, but there was no hilt to meet it. Damn! What on earth possessed him to leave this morning without his weapon? Hoping they hadn't seen him, he reached for the handle to the bakery door, hoping to duck inside unnoticed, but his hopes were dashed as he heard, "Ho there! Yes you! Wait a moment."

Perhaps they won't recognize me, he prayed. They had been deeply in their cups that night. He turned to face them but kept his head ducked.

"We're looking for a weaver's shop, but we don't know the name. Be there one around here?" asked the leader in English. Gareth shrugged his shoulders and shook his head to indicate he didn't understand and then turned to leave, planning to make an escape around the next corner and come back for Elena. He hadn't taken but a step when a thick hand clamped down on his shoulder. Gareth twisted quickly, dislodging the hand with ease and landing a solid blow the man's chin, but giving the rest a clear view of his face.

"Say!" said one of the men to the leader, "Isn't he--"

"Yes!" shouted the leader and lunged to grab Gareth who was already running up the street. As he searched for an alley to duck down or a shop to hide in, he cursed his lack of forethought in not bringing his weapon. Had he his wits about him, and therefore his sword, he could have dispatched the three men to their maker and had the corpses moved away before Elena left the bakery with her directions. As he was about to round a corner in the cobbled street, he cast a glance down the lane. The ruffians were, thank God, clumsy and slow in their pursuit. The man he had punched was still clutching his jaw. Gareth's derisive grin faded as he thought of Elena coming out of the bakery while the men were still on the street. So as not to discourage his pursuers until they were out of this vicinity, he pretended to trip on a cobble stone and rolled to the ground easily. As he had hoped, the men yelled triumphantly and redoubled their efforts. He led them through a twisted maze of streets, praying he would be able to find his way back to the bakery. Every few steps he had to slow his pace so that he would not completely outdistance the rough soldiers behind him. Ahead he saw a small square full of people crowded around a table. Gareth had seen his father dole out justice and punishment often enough to recognize the well-dressed man seated at the table as a magistrate. Pushing his way through the throng of people, Gareth interrupted the proceedings, which seemed to involve the owner of a chicken and a young boy.

"Your honor!" Gareth panted in Welsh. "I am but a poor, honest Cymraes being pursued most unjustly by a group of English mercenaries who wish to do me harm because I will not call myself Englishman. They claim there is no such thing as a Welshman because we are all ruled by an English king!" Gareth glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldiers at the outer edge of people, trying to find him over the heads of the crowd. The crowd itself was humming with outrage over Gareth's words and Gareth had to suppress a grin. To deny a Welshman his heritage was nothing short of blasphemy.

The magistrate stood and smoothed his coat over his round belly. "Who are these Englishmen?" he asked, pronouncing "Englishmen" with the same emotion a priest infuses into "spawn of Satan."

Pointing to the rough men, Gareth said, "There they are!"

The magistrate ordered his guards to seize the men, but the crowd descended upon them first, rounding them up with no lack of roughness and dragging them forward. As the magistrate bellowed a sermon on the antiquity of the Welsh culture to the cheers of the crowd, Gareth casually made his way to the edge of the square and then down the street he had just run up.

He reached the bakery just as Elena was coming out, a sweet roll in hand.

"It's just two doors down. Elena said after Gareth pulled back.

A confused look crossed his face as he tried to catch his breath. "What is?"

"The seamstress, of course," she said and took a large bite of roll.

"Oh. Of course." He stooped to pick up the pile of cloth and then glanced over his shoulder."

"What are you looking for?" she asked

"I just didn't want to get run down in this busy thoroughfare," he said, deciding not to worry her with his recent exploit.

Elena laughed. "A grave danger indeed," she joked. "We are probably the only people to travel down this street in a month!" She shifted the remnants of the roll to one hand, and rested her other in the crook of his arm as they made their way down the narrow street. They stopped in front of the only door that did not display a sign overhead. As the entered the unmarked and dimly lit shop, Elena blinked, trying to force her eyes to adjust after the brightness of the morning sunlight.

Gareth leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Are you sure this is the place?"

Elena looked around as her eyes finally grew accustomed to the dimness. The shop was tiny, with scarce enough room for the rough-hewn wooden table and empty shelves that were pushed against opposite walls. A narrow doorway was covered with a thin piece of cloth. There was nothing to indicate that this was a seamstress's shop. Elena looked at Gareth and shrugged. "Why don't you call out and see if anyone comes to answer."

"Hello?" Gareth yelled. Almost instantly, a thin young woman threw back the curtain and scurried out to meet them. "Are you a seamstress?" Gareth asked her.

The scrawny woman bobbed her head. "Would you like me to sew something for you?" she asked in uncertain Welsh.

"That depends on how good and how fast you are," Elena said. "Do you have any samples of your work we might investigate?"

The woman looked worried. "Only what I am working on now. 'Tis a dress for my niece who's getting married soon."

When the woman simply stood there, Elena prodded her. "Will you show it to us?"

"Of course," the flustered woman said. "Please follow me." She led them through the narrow doorway and up an increasingly bright staircase. Once they reached the top, Elena realized that the cause of the illumination was a high row of windows that let light pour in on the spotlessly clean, if cluttered room. A child of about four or five sat on the floor surrounded by wooden toys. He was entertaining the inhabitant of a beautifully carved cradle. A large table against the far wall was buried under a heap of dark blue cloth. To their right was a small but tidy kitchen, a pot on the stove exuding delicious smells along with copious amounts of steam. Overall, the rooms had a cheery warmth about them that Elena had never experienced in any of the immense and richly furnished, but cold and dark chambers of the stone castles in which she had spent the last year.

"You really should hang a sign out. We weren't sure this was the right place," Elena said.

The woman nodded and, not meeting their eyes, said, "They've taken the last two I put out."

"Who did?"

"The other seamstresses. I don't think they want me on this street."

Elena was just about to tell the woman that was ridiculous, that it was probably only prankster boys, when she finally realized what was odd about the woman's speech. "You're not Welsh, are you?"

The woman lifted frightened eyes. "I'm sorry," she peeped.

"Why should you be? I'm not either. Are you Scottish?"

The seamstress nodded. "My husband was born here and he always wanted to move back, but I don't seem to fit in too well."

"The thing I've learned about these Welsh is that you must simply force them to accept you. They can be exceedingly bullheaded sometimes but they'll back down and consider you one of their own if you're persistent enough." Elena pointedly avoided looking at Gareth for his reaction. Besides, she didn't care what he thought, what she'd said had proven true enough with him, hadn't it? "Now tell us your name and then show us your work. You may speak in English if that is easier."

The young seamstress appeared a bit overwhelmed by Elena, but quickly stated that her name was Annie. Shaking out the blue cloth, she said, "Here is the dress I am making for my niece. I've only the hem left to finish."

Elena handed what was left of the honeyed roll to the young boy and inspected the sleeves, the seams, and the lacings up the back. "You do excellent work. How fast could you make my dress?" Elena quickly explained the style of dress she wanted, completely forgetting Gareth's presence as she discussed the cut, the position of the waistline, and the fullness of the sleeves.

Annie swallowed nervously. "How quickly do you need it?"

Elena turned to Gareth. "When are we leaving?"

Startled out of his daze, Gareth stared uncomprehendingly at Elena. She repeated her question and he said, "Three days."

Annie's eyes bulged but she nodded. "I can do it." She quoted a price and Elena accepted, not even checking with Gareth to see if he had that much money. "Shall I measure you right now?"

"Yes, that will be fine."

Annie gathered her measuring string and looked uncertainly from Gareth to Elena. "And your..."

Elena immediately understood. "My brother can occupy your son downstairs and head off your husband should he come back."

"Oh he won't--he's a carpenter and he's working on a ship that's preparing to sail. Here Oengus," she said, picking up one of the wooden toys and handing it to her son. "Show this gentleman how this toy works downstairs." Little Oengus grabbed the wooden horse in one sticky hand and headed for the door, shouting "Come on!" over his shoulder.

Gareth dumped the pile of cloth in Elena's outstretched arms and whispered, "Brother?"

"It just popped into my head," she responded with a wicked smile. Gareth rolled his eyes and followed the young boy out of the room.

Nearly an hour later, Elena left Annie who was already at work, measuring out the wool and planning to cut the many pieces. She entered the small downstairs room to discover Gareth rolling about the floor, wrestling with Oengus. The little boy squealed with delight as Gareth allowed himself to be pushed over and pinned as Oengus sat on his chest. "I won! I won!" he shouted.

Seeing Elena, Gareth plucked the child off his chest and quickly scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with exertion, his hair tumbled about his brow, the young boy clinging to his neck and shoulders like a vine.

"Are you finished?"

Elena nodded, surveying his rumpled appearance with amusement. "Are you?"

"I was just," Gareth cleared his throat. "I was just keeping young Oengus here occupied so he wouldn't disturb you."

Elena smiled wryly. "Thank you."

Tilting his head back so he could see Oengus's face, Gareth said, "Come, you young scalawag. Give Lady Elena a kiss goodbye."

Elena shook her head and frowned apprehensively. "No, no. That's alright," she began, but it was too late, for Gareth was holding out the little boy who leaned forward obediently and placed a wet and sticky kiss on her cheek. Elena rubbed at her cheek with the back of her hand as the youngster wriggled to be put down and then scampered up the stairs. Gareth straightened and looked sheepishly at Elena. "I guess I'm still a boy at heart."

Never comfortable with children of any age--even when she was one, Elena didn't know how to respond. She had spent her entire life trying to act as mature and regal as possible and the thought of wanting to be a child and romp around was foreign to her. On one hand, she thought it very silly of Gareth to roll around on the floor acting like a fool, and yet some part of her wondered what it would be like to abandon all pretensions and cares of adulthood and simply laugh until her stomach hurt, or tumble in a sweet grassy meadow, or run barefoot along the surf.

"What would you like to do today?" Gareth asked.

Run on the beach, play in a meadow. "It doesn't matter," she said.

"Why don't we explore the city? Da tells me there's a shop that has books around here somewhere."

"That would be fine.” All sense of adventure aside, however, Elena was interested in the bookseller for they were a rare and expensive commodity. Her father had indulged her literacy with many expensive books, but in Richard's court, books were not at all the thing for ladies-in-waiting. Another urge stifled, she thought, remembering those long, incredibly tedious winter nights that would have passed so pleasantly had she only had a book or two to read.

As Gareth held the door open for her, he said, "You don't care much for children, do you?"

"Hmm?" Elena said, still thinking of the last book she had read with its glorious illumination. That had been the most expensive book her father had ever purchased, costing more than three new court dresses. At the time, Elena hadn't been sure the book had been worth giving up the gowns, but she had managed to convince her doting father that she needed the book and the clothes, so she had been happy.

Gareth repeated his question and she turned her attention to him. She shrugged and said, "I don't see much point in them."

Gareth laughed. "No point except to populate the world."

"Well, besides that, of course. I know I must have them some day, but I haven’t been around them. I was an only child, you see, and children are not kept at court."

Gareth was silent for several seconds as they walked down the narrow street. "Elena, you know we may have created a child last night." She did not respond and continued looking in the shop windows they passed on the widening street, trying to think of herself with a child. Gareth’s child.

"Elena?"

She stopped in front of a window in which their figures were clearly reflected in the many thick panes of glass. Elena stared at her reflection for a moment and then turned to face Gareth.

"I'm sure we didn't."

"How can you know." Gareth's eyes widened with embarrassment and he stammered, " I mean…”

Turning to Gareth, she saw the concern on his face and she forced a smile. "Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. I--" Gareth pushed his hair out of his eyes impatiently. "I just want you to know that if you were...with child, I would marry you and, well, take care of you both."

Elena felt her heart lurch. That he would mention marriage not three hours after she envisioned him as her husband was startling. But she did not want a marriage based on obligation. She wanted him to want to marry her. Or, at least, she thought she did. She was still so confused over what exactly she did feel for this frustrating man.

Needing to not think for a while, she dismissed his concern with a breezy, “Let’s not fill this beautiful day with worries of any sort. I want to see all the sights this quaint city has to offer." Taking his hand, she squeezed it and pulled him after her as she turned a corner and headed for the center of town, acting as if she had firmly put all thoughts of their lovemaking and subsequent conversation about it out of her head.

***

For Gareth, he could not stop thinking about the subject. Now that the subject had come up, there were so many things he wanted to ask her: did she regret that it had happened? Did she feel anything at all for him, because he was fairly certain now that he loved her. Gareth wished he had Cynan's brashness when it came to blurting out whatever came to mind, but fear of what she might think of him for asking those questions, and fear of what she might answer kept him quiet. Fear! An emotion he had scorned to indulge in since he was in leading strings.

As if they truly were brother and sister, he held her hand as she climbed up steps, answered her endless questions about Aberstwyth, and bought her food when she was hungry.

They spent the entire day traipsing through the shops of Aberstwyth, even talking about their childhood and families, but Gareth never got over the feeling that they were avoiding the most important topic and that was their feeling toward one another. Finally, as their feet were sore and their legs weary from so much walking, they discovered the book seller's shop, only to find it had closed for the night.

"Is that not just my luck," Elena said dejectedly as they sat on a carved log strategically placed in front of the shop.

"We have all of tomorrow free. We'll come back and you can browse to your heart's content."

"Really? Don't you have business to attend to? I mean, some sort of plan to work out or something."

Gareth valiantly ignored the twinge of guilt at lying to Elena as he said, "I told you, I've decided not to join their cause, after all. I'm just returning to England, the same as you."

"Well, I know, but don't you have to convince everyone here that you won't betray their intents?"

"No," Gareth said, more sharply than he had intended. "They know that whatever my feelings, I won't betray their lives. With or without a few Welshmen, Henry and Richard will come to battle. All I can do is return to my king and offer what service I can."

They sat quietly for minutes, each absorbed in his thoughts, Gareth suffering under the burden of deceit; deceiving Elena now and deceiving Richard's entire court upon returning to England. With a humorless grimace, Gareth reflected on his perpetual guilt. Just a few weeks ago, he was suffering at the thought of abandoning his knightly vows to his king, despite his awareness that Richard was not the sovereign he should be. Then when Elena nearly died trying to reach them, he suffered overwhelming guilt that he had dragged her into their messy plans. And don't forget, Gareth reminded himself, how guilty you felt when you first turned Lord Stanley down for this distasteful task. Gareth sighed and adjusted the chip on his shoulder. Elena thankfully distracted him from further gruesome thoughts.

"Are you certain there will be a war?"

Gareth shrugged. "There will at least be a battle."

Elena nodded, watching Gareth closely. "Will you fight in it?"

Her question made Gareth's stomach clench. Of course he would fight in it, but how would he fight for his side? Go along with Richard's troops and then start massacring them from behind? It may be effective for a moment or two, but he would quickly be hacked to pieces. Not that he was afraid of dying, simply that he did not relish the idea of rushing to death's cold embrace without first kicking and screaming.

"Will you?" Elena's strained voice finally registered on Gareth and he realized that she was worried. For him? Did she not want him to die?"

"Undoubtedly. Does that bother you?"

Elena frowned and hesitated before answering. "Well of course it bothers me. I...I don't have any black clothes to wear for your funeral and I won't dye my new houppeland just so I can pay my respects."

"Hoope--land? What in the living world is that?"

"Not hoopey, houppe. A houppeland. That's what my new dress will be."

"What is it?"

Elena laughed at his apparently stupid question. "It's just a style--high waist, full skirt, big sleeves. Started in Germany, I believe. Surely you've seen them on ladies at court. Men too, actually."

Gareth looked at her in horror, hoping this was not a style knights would be required to wear. "Men are wearing houppelands?"

"Of course. Although not as full, and sometimes quiet short."

Gareth longed for his childhood in Wales where a rough tunic and comfortably worn leggings got him through year after year. "Who invents these ridiculous fashions?" Gareth asked peevishly, imagining himself trussed up in velvet, scarcely able to breath for a tight collar, sitting through an interminably long court.

"I don't know. The loomsmen, I suppose. It seems each new fashion requires more cloth than the last. There no doubt will be a day when it will require fifteen lengths to make a decent gown."

Gareth thought of the money he had spent on eight lengths of wool and fervently prayed that he never had daughters.

Elena stood and stretched. "Well, Sir Gareth, either we return to our temporary abode or you will be forced to buy me one of those lamb sticks from the square."

Gareth stood also, realizing that the sun was hovering just above the horizon. "Da said he was arranging for the evening meal tonight, so we'd best be heading back."

"Your father cooks?" Elena asked, incredulous.

"He cooks about as much as I do."

Elena wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't mean we're having that horrid dried beef, does it?"

Gareth laughed. "I think Da meant he was arranging for someone to cook food for us. I'm sure he's sparing us from dried beef since that's what all we'll be eating in a few days."

Elena moaned as Gareth took her hand and led her up the street. "Isn't there anything else you can take on a journey to eat besides dried beef? That stuff has no taste and is the consistency of worn boot leather."

"So you've told me every time we've eaten it. I'll see if Samuel has anything else we can take when we leave, but don't get your hopes up. Whatever we take has to last a good week without spoiling."

"Let's hurry home then," Elena said, picking up her pace. "I intend to gorge myself on edible food just in case dried beef is all we have for the next week."

Gareth laughed and allowed her to pull him along, content for the moment to concentrate solely on the feel of her hand in his, her smile as she turned her head to urge him along, and her wind-tousseled hair.

They reached Samuel's shop as the sun was slipping into the ocean, just visible in the distance from his doorstep. Gareth paused to watch it flatten and slowly sink, feeling the last rays warm his face with a golden glow possible only at this time of night. As soon as the uppermost edge had slipped away, the evening took on a cool blue light that was somehow suddenly quiet and peaceful. Closing his eyes, Gareth inhaled deeply, forgetting his burdens and absorbing all the peace of the moment. Elena was going to miss real food for a week, but he was afraid he was going to miss this feeling of utter peace for a great deal longer. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the first star of the evening twinkle above him. "Please be a good omen," he whispered before following Elena into the warm house.