A Dishonorable Knight(39)
"You have the sourest disposition of any man I've ever known," she said as she pushed herself up. Since Gareth was still standing in the doorway, she could not help but brush against him as she went outside.
"If that's so, it's because you are the most exasperating woman I've ever known," he replied wearily.
Elena turned back around. "Now how can you say that? I've been a model of uncomplaining sweetness for weeks now." She turned and disappeared into the hazy twilight. Gareth heard her laughing at something Bryant must have said. He rubbed the tense muscles in his neck and mentally cursed his quick temper with Elena; she truly had been a model traveling companion today. Simply because he had been unable to keep her and their one kiss out of his mind while she obviously felt nothing in return was no reason for him to treat her so unchivalrously. She clearly preferred men like his cousin Rhys.
Gareth flung his pack down and stomped outside. He clenched his teeth as he thought of Elena kissing his cousin. What had transpired between them during the past week? Rhys was nothing more than a flirt, could Elena not see that? Gareth turned to start a fire in front of the hut and paused. Perhaps Elena was full aware that his cousin had no serious intentions. Perhaps she was only seeking what respite she could before marriage to the cruel Brackley. If that was the case, Gareth could not blame her if she kissed every man from here to London. And yet, why was she so put off when he tried to kiss her a second time? That first kiss they had shared after escaping the mercenaries had literally stolen his breath with its intensity, its passion, its sheer rightness. Had Elena not felt the same? He shook his head in confusion. The day he understood Elena de Vignon would be the day he was made King of England.
***
The two day trip passed uneventfully, if too quickly for Elena. Though her muscles were already screaming for relief from the constant jarring of riding, her mind dreaded the conclusion of the trip. The abbey was one step closer to England, one step closer to the Earl of Brackley. Though she should be anxious to return to Richard’s court so she could perhaps talk him out of the betrothal, she felt only dread. As they rode into the walled-in yard surrounding the abbey at Dinas Mawddwy in the late afternoon of the third day from Eyri Keep, Elena reined in her horse to take one last look at the soaring peaks of the Cambrian mountains. Though she would see them again, it would be as an Englishwoman going to meet her fiancé, not as a temporary Welshwoman who danced to bawdy country tunes.
"Elena?" Gareth asked from inside the bailey.
With a sigh, Elena turned her mount and nudged hit toward the gate. As she passed under, the wall's imposing shadow fell across her and, Elena thought, across her future.
Gareth saw Elena shudder and asked, "What is it?"
They eyes she turned on him were wide with fear and Gareth's hand fell to his sword hilt as he stood in his stirrups to look behind her. There was nothing on the empty dirt road they had just traveled and Gareth sat back down. "Are you alright?" he asked with more gentleness than he had shown her for days.
Elena nodded and started to dismount. Gareth quickly jumped down from Isrid and hurried over to help her. She could feel the concern in his gaze and resisted the urge to turn her face into his shoulder and weep out her fears and confusion. His shoulders were well muscled and looked as though they could easily bear her concerns.
"My thanks," Elena was all she allowed herself to say.
"Had I known you would be so subdued around an abbey, I would have brought you by one weeks ago," Gareth responded with a laugh.
Reminded that he was eager to be rid of her, Elena forced her desire for him to a distant corner of her heart and took refuge in anger. "Has the sun addled your brain? I was merely enjoying the pleasant quietness of the evening until you began talking."
The smile on Gareth's face faded at her sharp tone of voice. "Pray forgive me," he said sarcastically. "I attributed your paleness to discomfort. I stupidly forgot that you have been a month without the rouging powders you Englishwomen are forced to resort to enhance the complexion."
Elena leveled her most withering glare at Gareth but he seemed immune to it as he turned and greeted the abbess who was making her way towards them.
"Your companions inform me that you have an Englishwoman seeking refuge?" The dour-faced woman said in Welsh.
"That is correct, Reverend Mother," Gareth said meekly. Elena would have laughed at his expression—that of a naughty lad trying to appear good—were she not still angry with him.