A Dishonorable Knight(60)

"Do you know where you're going?" Elena's question roused him from his reverie.

"I'm trying to locate the shop of Samuel the Weaver."

"Why do you not stop and ask someone?" she said innocently.

"I don't need to ask where it is, I'll find it. ‘Tis just that this town has changed a lot since the last time I was here."

"That seems like all the more reason to ask for directions."

"I don't need directions. I told you, I'll find it!"

Knowing Gareth couldn't see the expression on her face, she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She was going to have a good laugh at Sir Know-it-all's expense when he did finally have to stop and ask. As they wound back and forth along the smooth stone streets, Elena's anticipation and making Gareth eat his words grew.

Elena was forced to swallow her carefully planned comments about Gareth's stubbornness when he yelled in her ear, "There it is!"

Blind luck, she thought. Carefully storing away the subtle insults she had composed--she had no doubt he would provide her a reason to use them later--she concentrated on hanging on to Isrid's mane as Gareth sent the powerful horse galloping down the narrow and crowded street, heedless of the pedestrians and carts full of produce and grain. Elena grabbed the edge of the saddle as they nearly collided with an old man crossing the street. A moldering onion thrown, no doubt, by an aggrieved merchant narrowly missed Elena's shoulder and broke apart against the back of a cart as Gareth abruptly reined in Isrid in front of a small, slate-roofed shop. There was a meticulously carved wooden sign over the door indicating cloth supplies inside.

Gareth had just dismounted and was helping Elena down when the door to the shop opened and Bryant burst out.

"Gareth! Thank God you're alive! We had all but given up hope of your ever arriving."

"We met up with some English soldiers we had to outwit," Gareth explained. "It wasn't hard," he said with a laugh. “Just time consuming. How much have I missed?"

"About a day's worth of plans. And you'll never believe who arrived just this morning," Bryant said as he escorted them into the dimly lit shop. Bolts of wool lined two of the three walls, from thick nubby plaits to buttery soft weaves in a muted rainbow of colors. A third wall held a few bolts of fine cotton and several shelves of precious trims.

"Who, King Richard?" Gareth teased.

Bryant shrugged and shook his head dramatically as he led them down a small hall. "No, you oaf. Lord Stanley, Henry's stepfather."

Gareth paused and in the dark hall, Elena ran into his back. He ignored her jab to his ribs as he asked, "Does Richard not hold his son as a hostage to Stanley's loyalty?"

"Yes which is why it is so amazing that he's here. He is risking many lives to help Henry plan."

Ignoring Elena, who kept running into him and poking him in the ribs, Gareth marveled at the news. So, Lord Stanley had finally chosen a side. For the past three reigns, Stanley had vacillated between Lancaster and York, showing support for whichever party sat on the throne. The last his father had heard, the influential Stanleys were remaining carefully aloof from the upcoming confrontation between Henry and Richard. Perhaps Stanley's wife, Henry's mother, had finally forced him to take a stand. Gareth felt much more confident in their success with Bryant's news.

The dim hall emptied into a small, tidy living area. Turning, Bryant gestured to the chairs at the table. "Lady Elena, if you will sit here, I will return shortly and try to find something for you to eat." Motioning to Gareth, he led the way to a door in the corner of the room. Opening the door, Bryant started up a narrow staircase, Gareth following quickly behind.

"Wait!" Elena said imperiously. "Where are you going? What about me?"

Gareth turned around and Bryant bent down on the steps so he could see into the room. "Elena," Gareth began. This meeting is between Henry's closest advisors and those of us who are willing to die to put him on the throne. There is no way we can bring a woman to the meeting, much less an English woman from Richard's court.”

Elena frowned and stomped her foot. "But I'm Welsh, too. And besides, I almost died for this cause, remember?"

Gareth crossed the room and took Elena's face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her soft cheeks. Elena grasped his wrists but did not try to pull his hands away. Gareth's voice was quiet as he tried to explain.