A Dishonorable Knight(51)

Her consolation obviously did not sound as weak to Bryant's ears as it did to Gareth’s because the young man looked up at her in wonder and smiled sheepishly.

"We've got to move, we're already a day late reaching the meeting and we've probably got English soldiers behind us," said Gareth crossly. The lovesick look on Bryant’s face made him unaccountably angry. As soon as Cynan and Bryant were mounted, he nudged Isrid into a gallop.

Their rapid pace prevented conversation and even when they slowed to let the horses rest, Gareth was unsure how to talk to Elena. Clearly their relationship had taken a dramatic turn from the hostility of their first days on the road and even from their wary peace at Eyri Keep. But where exactly they stood as friends or lovers, he knew not.

He tried to see her face, even leaning sideways on the pretext of checking Isrid’s girth strap. She appeared lost in thought, her expression impossible to read.

Whatever path their relationship took, they were clearly stuck together. Gareth could not risk her safety—and theirs—by leaving her at another abbey. His father had been certain the abbess at Dinas Mawddwy supported Henry Tudor. They could not chance another mistaken loyalty.

Suddenly weary of trying to figure out his feelings, much less Elena’s he forced his mind to consider the upcoming meeting with Henry Tudor’s supporters. Though his path seemed to have been chosen for him, he did not begrudge it. He had decided to throw his lot in with Tudor and his kinsmen. Thoughts of battle plans and weaponry kept his thought off his beautiful companion for the next several hours.

Though his mind was otherwise occupied, his body was finely tuned to her every movement and Gareth looked down as Elena shuddered. Surely she could not be cold; the day was hot and muggy thanks to the days of rain. Still, she had just recovered from a fever...

"My lady? Are you cold?"

Elena started. "Wh-what?"

"You shivered. Are you cold?"

Elena glanced over her shoulder at him. Her clothes were sticking damply to her and her hair was plastered against her neck. He realized it was a foolish question.

"I'm not cold," she said peevishly.

Gareth frowned. Elena had never been anything but haughty and arrogant. He was a fool to think otherwise, a few kisses notwithstanding. But as the memory of that morning rose unbidden in his mind, he could not help but admit to himself that Elena had changed from their first meeting and that she was no doubt simply tired from their journey and her recent illness. She still had the ability to make him feel awkward and tongue-tied, but she had followed them, on foot apparently, to warn them of the English soldiers. And though she had been feverish at the time, he could not help but remember her whispered plea that he not leave her again. And then there was the matter of waking up with her in his arms and her sweetly passionate kisses. There had been nothing arrogant about the way she had twined her fingers in his hair and gasped when he had kissed her--

Gareth shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. They really were going to have to procure another horse. She simply could not ride in front of him across Wales and back. It was awkward, it was tiring, and...and it was going to prove downright embarrassing if her hips kept pressing against his every time Isrid climbed a hill.

When they stopped to let the horses drink at a stream in the late afternoon, Gareth splashed cold water over his head, trying to rid his mind of the picture of Elena's creamy skinned body against the rough sheets at the inn. When they were ready to continue, he shifted packs on the saddle around and mounted first, hauling Elena up to perch behind him. Now why didn't I think of this earlier? he asked himself as he prodded Isrid ahead of the other two horses, blissfully ignoring the questioning glances of Cynan and Bryant.

Two hours later, Gareth was wondering what could have made him do such a stupid thing. Elena had been forced to hold onto his waist as her new perch was more precarious than sitting in front of him had been. The feel of her arms around his waist was nearly as disturbing as was the feel of her backside pressed against him. What was worse was when she had fallen asleep, nearly an hour ago. With her head resting on his shoulder, he could clearly feel the imprint of her breasts against his back. Her grip around his waist had loosened in sleep and her hands lay loosely on his upper thighs, all but brushing his crotch. This was torture!

When they finally stopped to make camp, Elena was still soundly sleeping.

"Don't wake her," Bryant whispered. "She's still not fully recovered her strength."

"I wasn't going to wake her," Gareth said edgily. He pushed his friend's hands away when Bryant would have taken Elena in his arms, but soon realized that he had no way to get down without dumping her on the ground. He reluctantly handed Elena down to Bryant and scrambled out of the saddle. He turned to take Elena but Bryant was already carrying her to the blankets Cynan had laid on a bed of leaves. Stifling the insane spurt of jealousy at the protective air Bryant had assumed over Elena, Gareth unsaddled, fed, and watered the horses before returning to their makeshift camp in the middle of a thick copse of trees.