A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,164

she still preferred the comforts of a real bed complete with sheets, pillows, and blankets. The last time she had slept under the stars, she had Gareth to cushion the hardness of the ground. His chest had proved a most comforting pillow and his arms, though hard with muscle, were wonderfully satisfying to sleep in. She propped her head on her folded arm and squirmed about, trying unsuccessfully to find a position in which a twig or pine needle or stone did not poke into some part of her body. Through the last month of hard riding and strenuous exertions, her body had lost much of its soft roundness. Roundness that had, a month ago, provided some relief from the hard objects she was now lying on. Elena finally rolled onto her back and after some minor adjusting, found a fairly comfortable position in which she was neither poked nor jabbed. Her physical ailments temporarily abated, she allowed her mind to return to Gareth. She wondered where he was, if Richard's men were after him as well, and if he was thinking about her as much as she was of him. In the drowsy state before sleep, she had no energy for the anger of the day before when she had cursed the day she had lain eyes on him. Instead, she envisioned a few months into the future, when, the war between the roses settled and over, Gareth would ride to her father's manor. In her dream (was she dreaming now? it was hard to tell), his arm was in a sling and Isrid was coated with battle dust. But that endearing lock of hair was still in his grey eyes that were searching for her amongst the crowd of servants and family members who had gathered outside to welcome this brave warrior. Finally locating her, he swung off his horse and strode through the throng of onlookers (does he seem taller now? she wondered in some abstract part of her dream). Upon reaching her, he sank to his knees, and Elena decided he was going to beg her forgiveness for abandoning her and plead for her hand in marriage. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words of love, blood poured from his mouth. She screamed as Gareth pitched forward and she saw the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his back. She glanced up to see Cynan holding a bow. "Traitor!" he yelled. "She's a traitor to the Welsh and she serves Richard! Richard who--"

Elena awoke with a start, her eyes not seeing the predawn light of the horizon, but instead Cynan's angry face screaming at her. Unclenching her hands that were twisted in her skirts, she realized she was drenched in sweat. She wiped her brow with the cuff of her dress and took a shaky breath. She glanced over to Dafydd and saw him sleeping peacefully a few feet away. Willing herself to relax, she stretched out and forced her mind to act rationally. In the first place, Gareth and Cynan were close friends, raised together since they were babies. In the second place, she had never seen Cynan exhibit the least bit of temper, much less anger, so her mind must have conjured someone else's image and Cynan was just the first name she thought of. Was she a traitor to the Welsh? She had only recently begun to acknowledge the fact that Welsh blood ran in her veins, that her mother had been born and raised in Wales. Furthermore, she had only the day before learned the exact details of Richard's unjust treatment of the Welsh from Dafydd. Besides, what could she as a woman do? War was men's business. They were the one's who started them, let them be the one's who ended them. Elena's well-honed skill at rationalizing her way out of responsibility gave her cold comfort that morning. Though she was no longer shaken by her bad dream--and after what she'd been through lately, who could blame her from suffering nightmares?--she was unable to return to sleep and instead watched the horizon through a narrow break in the trees as the sun rose, bringing warmth and dispelling shadows.

Before long, Dafydd stirred and rose groggily to his feet. Not realizing she was awake, he stumbled past her into the trees, his eyes mere slits in his face. By the time he returned, Elena had folded her blanket and retrieved two slightly bruised apples from the bag the innkeeper