Spectre of the Sword Read Online Free Page A

believe her for a moment but would not contradict her. Like his brother,
he knew women somewhat, having a spirited wife of his own and her two equally
spirited sisters that lived with them. He knew what it meant to contradict a
woman when one was attempting to gain her compliance.  He would have a battle
on his hands.
    He turned back to Rhys.
“Get her to Hanwell. The inn is on the outskirts, called the Blond Gazelle.
We’ll meet you there.”
    With that, he pulled his
mail hood back on and turned for his charger, now munching on wet grass.  Rhys
took the lady by the elbow again and let her back to their leafy haven. 
    His charger had cooled
somewhat and was nibbling on the bushes he was tethered to.   Rhys resecured
his shield and his crossbow and led the horse out of the foliage.  He mounted
Elizabeau without a word and leapt on behind her.   
    “Sir knight?”
Elizabeau’s voice was soft.
    “My lady?”
    She turned slightly,
gazing up into his strong face. “I do apologize if I have made this a miserable
trek for you. It was not my intention.”
    Rhys had been largely
silent since the beginning of the foray.  It was what it was, and she was the
way she was. He accepted it.
    “It is of no matter, my
lady,” he said honestly.
    “But it is,” she
insisted. “I never meant to imply that I was ungrateful for your loyalty.  It’s
just that I have lived my entire life in relative peace, with a relatively
normal routine, and suddenly two days ago I am told I am heir to the throne of
England and my uncle, whom I have only met twice in my life, is out to murder
me.  It is all so difficult to believe.”
    Rhys’ professional
persona was wavering slightly. He wasn’t used to emotion or apologies, in any
form, especially from a woman. In fact, he’d made it a practice in life to stay
clear of women in general.  They could topple a man faster than the mightiest
enemy.  He’d seen it before.
    Now the firebrand was
banking her heat and he had no idea how to deal with it. But he knew,
instinctively, that he did not trust her.  There had to be an ulterior motive
to her kindness.
    “Understood, my lady,”
he said.
    “I would wager that if I
could only speak with my uncle, I am sure we could settle this issue. Perhaps
this is all some horrible misunderstanding.”
    “Impossible, my lady. 
It is my duty to keep you safe and I shall do so with my last breath.”
    It wasn’t much of an
answer.  In fact, it was the generic knightly rhetoric.  With a resigned
wriggle of well-arched brows, Elizabeau returned her attention to the landscape
before them.  Even as he spurred the charger forward, her mind lingered on a
final thought; what if these knights attempting to supplant her on the throne
were wrong? What if they were all wrong?
    She wondered.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Hanwell was a town
inundated by the driving rain.  The streets were flooded and so were some of
the houses.  As Rhys and Elizabeau entered the outskirts of the berg, some of
there residents were bailing water out of their homes.  Doors were open and
buckets were flying.  Rhys steered his charger clear of more flying water as
they made their way down Argyle Street toward the northwestern edge of town.
    The Blond Gazelle wasn’t
hard to find. It was a brightly lit place with several drunken patrons
lingering by the open door, soaked to the skin but not caring. They were having
a marvelous time.  Rhys pulled the charger to a halt when he came to within
several yards of the place, watching the activity for a moment before
proceeding.  He wanted to make sure there were no obvious signs of John’s
assassins. 
    Quietly, he directed his
charger behind the inn and lowered Elizabeau into a huge puddle of horse piss
and rain.  She sloshed her way out of it miserably as Rhys dismounted behind
her and collected his weapons and saddlebags.  A sleepy lad emerged from the
small stable, rubbing his eyes and taking hold of the charger.