Stuart, Elizabeth (34 page)

Unexpectedly
Richard's arm clamped tightly about her, his whole body tensing in alarm. Elen
sent him a bewildered glance, but then she heard it too—a low grunting noise
coming from the clearing beyond.

Richard
eased to a sitting position and then got to his knees, drawing Elen with him.
Across the meadow, they spotted a huge wild boar. It had broken through the
undergrowth, and was rooting about at the foot of a rotting log. The animal
halted, four-inch ivory tusks slanting upward wickedly as his sensitive
nostrils tested the wind.

Elen
held her breath. Boars were aggressive and unpredictable, and among the most
dangerous animals in the forest. But they had notoriously poor vision. She
swallowed nervously. "P-perhaps he won't see us," she whispered.

Richard
had already drawn his sword. "Get up," he ordered softly.
"Slowly. Walk to the horses and mount up. But don't make any sudden
moves." He was easing the blanket into his arms as he spoke. "I'll
keep his attention while you get mounted."

"No!"
Elen caught his shoulder. "Keep still. Maybe he'll go back into the wood
without ever knowing we're here."

Richard
hadn't taken his eyes from the beast. "He already knows, Elen. He can
smell us. The wind is from the west. Now go!"

There
was nothing Elen could do but obey. Rising, she moved slowly toward the horses.
The bristly monster was watching her. He tossed his pointed head as if
uncertain in which direction to attack.

Never
had a walk seemed so interminable. Elen's heart began to pound; her breath came
unevenly. She glanced over her shoulder at Richard. He was moving deliberately
toward the boar, his path taking him in a direction opposite her. He sent her
an encouraging look, then shook out the blanket and swung it about his head.

At
sight of the flapping blanket, the boar pivoted toward Richard. Its sharp
little hooves tore impatiently at the ground. Lowering its heavy head it
grunted, preparing for a charge.

Elen
darted the last few steps to her mare. Richard faced the beast with his
broadsword, a pitiful weapon for such a purpose. Even the long, stout spears
used on boar hunts weren't always protection enough. The reinforced bar above
the handhold sometimes shattered with the shock of three hundred pounds of
slashing, savage fury. She had seen the bodies of men mauled by boars. It was a
horrible sight.

Throwing
herself into the saddle, Elen swung Ceiri about and headed the startled animal
directly for the charging boar. She had ridden on boar hunts, but only to
watch. She had never attacked an animal and knew she hadn't the strength for a
kill even if she had had a weapon. Her only hope now was to distract the beast.
Boars were known to savage anything that moved—and she was going to show plenty
of movement!

Tearing
her cloak from the saddle, she whirled it wildly alongside. She shouted
Llywelyn's war cry, hoping the noise would further confuse the animal.

And
her ploy was successful. The capricious beast checked his stride, veering to
meet her. As the boar swung sideways, Elen hauled on her reins, jerking the
mare back onto her haunches in an effort to escape the fury of those slashing
tusks.

Ceiri
slipped and scrambled for her footing and Elen held her breath. The nimble mare
righted herself and dashed on, but Elen brought her up short, turning about for
one more pass at the furious boar.

From
across the meadow, Elen could hear Richard shouting, but she paid him little
mind. All of her attention was focused on the dangerous beast she faced. Once
more she sent the game little mare directly at the boar. Turning aside at the
last second, she leaned far out over the boar's hairy back. She was so close
she could hear the animal's heavy breathing, so close she could see the rage in
its little red eyes. With an effort, she flung her billowing cloak over the
animal's head, and the creature turned, slashing and trampling the clinging
enemy that gripped it.

In
that moment's grace, Elen galloped past, drawing to a sliding stop beside
Richard. He grasped the saddle, swinging pillion behind her, as she kicked the
mare for a dash into the safety of the sheltering trees.

They
drew up in a thicket of sweet-smelling spruce, both breathing heavily from the
narrow escape. "Don't ever do anything like that again!" Richard bit
out. He caught Elen's shoulders, twisting her around to face him. "You
fool! Don't you realize you could have been killed? I've seen a boar bring down
a horse in mid-flight then turn and tear the rider to bits!"

Elen's
overwrought feelings exploded. "Oh, so I'm to watch you torn to pieces
instead? Next time I will!"

Richard
jerked her into his arms, crushing her against him. "You could have been
killed," he whispered. "God, don't ever frighten me so again!"

Elen
clung to him, still trembling. Richard might have been ripped apart by the
animal. It could have happened so easily. If she'd been a few seconds late in
reacting... if the mare had stumbled... if...

"At
least we've settled one thing between us," he added slowly. "I'll no
longer spend my days wondering if you plot to see me dead."

All
at once the enormity of what she had done washed over her. Elen buried her face
against Richard's chest, closing her eyes against a world where nothing made
sense anymore. "Don't say anything," she whispered. "Please...
just take me back."

A
week had passed since the terrifying attack by the boar; a week since Elen had
saved Richard's life. The incident had caused a subtle change in their
relationship. They were bound together now by a memory of shared danger, by the
knowledge that each might owe his life to the other. And they were bound by
something else as well— a memory of shared tenderness and passion, and the
intriguing question of what might have happened if only they had not been
interrupted.

When
Elen learned Richard was leaving Gwenlyn she felt almost relieved. He was off
in pursuit of Welsh raiders plundering near Beaufort. And when he came to say
goodbye, she took refuge in the old familiar anger. Richard was riding out
against her people... again.

But
for the first time, Elen was forced to admit the strong physical attraction
Richard held for her. Never had she ached for a man as she did him. Never had
the memory of a kiss so spoiled her days. This, then, was that powerful evil
the priests spoke of—the thing called lust.

She
would ask Giles permission to seek out Father Dilwen. Perhaps she could find a
measure of peace in a long overdue confession.

Late
one afternoon after Richard's departure, Elen entered Gwenlyn's chapel. The sun
slanted through the narrow stained-glass window, painting a rich pattern on the
cool tiled floor. She knelt on the steps before the high altar earnestly
reciting her confession to the priest.

Father
Dilwen gazed down at her, a gentle smile lurking in the depths of his dark
eyes. "This is quite a formidable list, child, but to be understood in
light of what you've been through this year past. The English soldier whose
life you took. You say he sought your own?"

Elen
nodded.

"Then
you have not the sin of murder on your soul. It is still a serious matter, but
take heart—we may absolve you. It is more the festering of hate in our hearts
our Lord condemned. Had you sought to harm one who'd done no wrong to you, the
condition would have been far worse."

Elen
squirmed uncomfortably and lowered her eyes. She had not been entirely honest
with Father Dilwen. "I... I have done this, Father. I sought to lead a man
to death by deceit. I would have slain him if I could, but he escaped me...."
Her voice trailed off. "Twice."

The
priest was silent a long moment. "I see." He put a gentle hand on her
shoulder. "Are you certain that is all, child? You seem troubled."

Elen
bit her lip. "No. No, that's not all. I have—" She took a deep
breath. "I have desired a man," she got out miserably. "I have
sinned the sin of lust."

Father
Dilwen eased himself down to a place on the steps beside her, his gaunt face on
a level with hers. "We are all subject to sins of the flesh, Elen. You are
a lovely woman and beauty can be its own curse, especially in this unsettled
time. Yet God has formed you for a purpose—to love and be loved and bear
children that are blessed in his sight. And perhaps you have a purpose even
greater than—"

Love?
Her eyes flew to his indignantly. To even suggest she loved an Englishman was
betrayal of all she knew. "I don't love the man!" she interrupted.

The
priest's dark eyes probed hers. "Are you quite certain, my child?"

"Of
course! It was naught but lust—a grievous sin, Father." She rose and paced
before the steps, unwillingly recalling the tenderness and peace she had found
in Richard's arms... and then the pleasure. Richard would be returning any day
and now, more than ever before, she longed to be gone when he arrived. She
didn't dare remain, not with the memory of that afternoon between them.

"I
must leave," she cried in rising agitation. "Can you help me, Father?
I've none else to turn to."

"Have
you asked for God's guidance?"

"I've
prayed night and day, but God doesn't hear me."

The
priest frowned but didn't offer the rebuke she expected. "Are you certain
he doesn't hear you, Elen? Or do you just not like his answers? Ofttimes his
plan for us is far different from that we would choose."

Elen
clenched her fists helplessly at her sides. Father Dilwen didn't understand,
but she could tell him nothing further. "Just tell me what penance I must
do," she said bitterly. "I must hurry. My guard is like to grow
impatient."

The
priest studied her in silence, then rose to his feet with a heavy sigh.
"Very well."

Elen
listened impatiently as he began the list of penance she must perform. But
before he was done, a servingman hurried into the room. "Father! Father,
please come at once!"

The
priest glanced up.

"Sir
Richard just rode in. There be wounded in the party and one needs last
rites."

Father
Dilwen nodded, gathering up his threadbare robe. "Tell the men I'll
come." He glanced back at Elen. "I must go, child, but we will speak
on this again." He touched her shoulder. "Compromise is not the
weakness you believe, Elen. Ofttimes it requires a strength difficult to find
within ourselves. Search your heart and mind and think on my words." He
hesitated, his dark face impassive. "The Englishman from Kent is a good
man."

***

"The
courier waits below, Richard. He's ready to ride."

Richard
glanced at his squire, then stared thoughtfully at the roll of sealed parchment
in his hand. The letter was short, but the few terse words had cost him most of
the day. He tossed it to Simon. "Have Watt give this into Ranulff de
Borgh's own hand. I doubt there'll be a reply, but bid him wait if there
is."

Simon
nodded.

Richard
frowned at the floor, unable to believe he was throwing away the most incredible
chance at good fortune he had been offered in his lifetime. True to his word,
Edward had put him forward as a husband for de Borgh's daughter, and the proud
baron hadn't been offended. He was, in fact, willing to consider the match and
had requested a meeting to discuss possibilities. But Richard couldn't bring
himself to pursue it.

He
ran a hand through his hair, telling himself the careful reply he had framed
would buy time. But he wasn't a fool. The excuse he was too busy with the
unrest in Wales was nothing less than a polite refusal of Ranulff's overture.
He only hoped he had not made an enemy.

"Richard...
is there trouble?"

Glancing
up, he discovered Simon still hovering uncertainly in the doorway. Richard
smiled reassuringly. "No, lad, no trouble. But I begin to wonder if some
blow I've taken over the years has addled my thinking."

Simon
grinned. "I'll let you know."

"Yes,
and I'll give you the backside of my hand!"

Simon
grinned again and turned to go.

"Simon,
did Giles fetch Elen down to the hall? It's near time for supper."

Simon
glanced back, his eyebrows lifting expressively. "She wouldn't come. Not
even for Giles."

"Did
he tell her I ordered it?" Richard snapped.

The
boy gave an eloquent shrug.

"Then
deliver a message to Her Grace. Either she comes down now or I'll have Henry
drag her down. Enough is enough!"

Simon
nodded once and disappeared, and Richard was left staring at the stack of
parchment on his desk in perplexity. Shoving the work aside, he frowned at the
door. What should he do about Elen? Their relationship had changed that
afternoon at the pool in a way he hadn't expected. Without knowing how, he had
let the girl grow more important to him than he'd ever planned.

As
if realizing the danger, Elen had rebuilt the wall he had patiently battered
down these last weeks, and since his return yesterday, she had been as
ridiculously difficult as in the beginning. Behaving like a veritable shrew
when he tried to talk with her, she claimed to be angry because he'd fought the
Welsh again. But Christ, he and his men had been ambushed! He was lucky the
attempt was a clumsy one. His men had routed the enemy and gotten off with the
loss of only one man.