A Dishonorable Knight(113)
"No! " Elena exclaimed, disbelieving. "Was he mad?"
Gareth laughed. "Oh, no. He was simply an incurable prankster. He was forever dressing up and fooling—well, scaring, actually--the children at Eyri Keep. As soon as we discovered that he had tricked us, we vowed to get even."
"What did you do?" she asked, expecting a tale of humorous revenge.
Gareth sobered. "Actually nothing. A few weeks later, Cynan's father fell from the parapets where he had been working. He died within minutes."
"Oh," Elena said, feeling sorry for the absent Cynan.
Gareth looked at her and smiled. "'Tis no matter. It happened near twelve years ago and I'm sure he went to his grave content that he got the last laugh on us."
Unable to stop herself, Elena yawned.
Gareth stood and banked the fire. "Are you tired? Perhaps we should go to sleep. We have many a mile to travel tomorrow."
"I'm not so very tired," Elena said.
Gareth paused in the act of putting another log on the fire and looked at her. Though she seemed to be intently concentrating on braiding her hair, he was certain her words meant something.
"No? Well, what should we do? Shall I tell you of another of my childhood escapades?"
Elena flicked her braid behind her back and looked boldly up at Gareth. "No."
Though no more words left her lips, her eyes spoke volumes and Gareth obediently joined her in the warm bedding.
Chapter 22
They were up early the next morning and on the road by the time the sun cut its lazy path over the horizon. The air held the brisk, pungent fragrance of the last days of summer when every flower is in bloom, every leaf has unfurled, and the grass is at its tallest. Without a second thought, Gareth packed all of their luggage onto the shaggy horse he had purchased in Aberstwyth and settled them both onto Isrid's broad back. Elena again wore Gareth's clothes, content to relinquish her new gown for apparel infinitely more practical for traveling by horseback.
They chatted amiably throughout that day, and throughout the week following as they made their way across England. They were blessed with near-perfect weather, only suffering two days of rain as league after league disappeared beneath Isrid's hooves. To fill the hours, they told stories of their youth, shared dreams and hopes of their youth, and even admitted first loves and first broken hearts. In the evenings, Elena helped Gareth unload the horses and gather firewood. She even learned to boil water to soften their dried meat into a more palatable stew, their hard sausage having run out on day two. At night, they curled close to each other when the fire burned down to smoldering embers. If the nights grew cold, the lovers did not notice, so intent were they on the other's body, their own pleasure, and the heat they created.
Gareth would have been content to spend the rest of his days traveling. Not once did he notice the food he ate, the hardness of the ground on which he slept, or the discomfort of the slow, penetrating drizzle that doused them for two days. Later, all he could remember of that trip was Elena pressed against him in the saddle with his arm curled comfortably around her waist; her soft form in his arms night after night; their hours of laughter and shared confidences; and his marvel that she could have changed so much in two short months, going from spoiled shrew to pleasing companion. The only thing that marred the journey for him was the nagging voice in his head telling him he was a fool for remaining silent, reminding him that he was wasting precious time by not telling her he loved her, time that could be spent racing to Eyri Keep should her feelings mirror his. But never in their enjoyable days or passionate nights had she uttered one word of love, one word of encouragement that she desired any more than they already had.
Elena was reveling in the novel experience of saying and doing whatever she pleased with no worry as to how decorous she looked or how ladylike she sounded. It was a remarkably liberating feeling, she reflected, to be able to discuss with Gareth any topic that came to mind and know that he would answer all her questions and ask her some in return. Never once did he tell her that any of her comments were not befitting a lady of the court, or that she should not concern herself with things more suited to a man's brain. Elena had once thought the way she had coerced the men of Richard's court to her will through flattery and flirtation was power. She was now learning the power of using her own thoughts and ideas to change Gareth's mind. Though she was eager to return to Richard's retinue, she was torn. She loved the richness and the beauty of court with everyone on their best behavior: jewels glittering, velvets rustling, musicians playing, incense-filled braziers smoking. She loved dressing in a new gown to attend a sumptuous feast where men toasted her beauty and laughter filled the hall. On the other hand, she was dimly aware that she would not be able to act in court as she was able to here, in Gareth's company. She would have to return to being a nodding hen wit when the king addressed her, smiling sweetly to his rich but dusty old nobles who doddered around thinking they were ever so much more attractive to the young ladies-in-waiting than their sons and grandsons who were young and handsome and had all their teeth.