A Dishonorable Knight(151)

They had reached the moonlit clearing before the house. Dafydd insisted she remain in the protective cover of the trees and Elena did not argue. She watched as he silently crept across the ground, blending in with the shadows. He climbed over the rubble that had been the sturdy walls and disappeared amongst the blackened ruins of her home.

Elena strained her eyes trying to see what had become of Dafydd, strained her ears trying to hear something other than the cracking of scorched timbers.

She whirled around at a rustling behind her but it was only Dafydd, returning through the woods.

“My parents. They are–“

”Come, my lady. Let us return to the village. I promised you would sleep in a bed tonight, did I not?”

“No! My–“

”They are dead, my lady,” Dafydd said as gently as he could.

Elena’s knees buckled and Dafydd caught her as she sank to the ground. “I am sorry, Elena,” he whispered.

Sometime later in the innkeeper’s cleanest room, her tears exhausted, Elena longed for Gareth, longed for his arms to comfort her, his shoulder to lean her weary head upon. Where was he tonight? Was he dead too? No! That she would not accept. She rolled onto her back and wiped the tears from her face. She did not know where Gareth was now, but she knew where he would be soon. He would be at the battle between Richard’s forces and Henry’s. Very well, then. So would she.





Chapter 34




On the outskirts of Lichfield, Elena and Dafydd stopped and made camp. They had traveled at a breakneck pace since hearing of Henry Tudor’s landing and subsequent march to the heart of England. They had spoken little during their journey, but had settled into a companionable kinship.

“Wait here until I determine who holds this town.”

Elena nodded but said nothing as he turned to leave. She unsaddled her horse and set about gathering firewood and lighting it. She stared into the small blaze and absently ran her hands through her cropped hair, mourning its loss only briefly. She felt as though she had aged a lifetime in the last week and the fact that she had needed to cut her beautiful hair to pass as a boy was of little consequence.

The idea had been hers. Dafydd had thought to deposit her in a convent for her own safety, for regardless of the outcome of the upcoming battle, the nuns would care for her. Elena decided not to tell him of the borderland abbess who’d quite calculatedly betrayed Gareth and his friends.

“No,” she said implacably. “I shall travel with you. You seek to join Henry Tudor’s army, do you not?”

“Yes, my lady, but that is no place—“

“Then I will accompany you.”

Seeking a different tack, he said, “But we will draw all manner of focus,” this with a gesture to her gown and jewels.

Elena fumbled at the clasp of her necklace, removing it and handing it to Dafydd. “Take this. Sell it and purchase me hose and a jerkin. A rough cloak.” Dafydd stared in horror at the necklace. “Oh, and food. Buy as much as the horses can carry.”

Looking a bit dazed, Dafydd finally took the necklace and made to leave the small room. “Dafydd,” she called out when he was at the door.

“Yes, my lady?” Trepidation filled his voice.

“Have you a dagger?”

He drew a blade from the sheath at his hip and handed it to her, hilt first.

“Thank you.”

It had taken Elena several tries, but she finally forced herself to saw through her thick chestnut-colored braid. She looked from it to the blade and saw that they were both shaking. Oh, she thought, it’s my hands. Carefully putting both down on the small table, she sat with clasped hands and awaited Dafydd’s return.

A brief rap heralded his entrance. He paused in the doorway, but said nothing. After a moment, he crossed the room and dropped a small bundle in her lap. “There’s a hood there as well. I thought it would hide…”

Her hair, she mentally finished, and smiled. Perhaps she should have thought more carefully before her rash act. And yet, she did not regret it. Cutting her hair—her pride, the envy of the other ladies at court, the object of many pretty compliments—was like severing herself from a past she no longer recognized.

They had travelled at a punishing pace, travelling in a roundabout path to stop at any town large enough to hear word of Henry Tudor’s landing, of King Richard’s movement. Always, their direction took them west, toward Wales. Elena was beyond tired. She had no idea what kept her in the saddle. She seemed to have discovered a hidden strength she’d never realized was a part of her. Or perhaps it was simply that her determination had settled on a different goal. Either way, they covered long stretches of England’s roads until finally they heard word at one busy pub of the upcoming battle.